But I can't pull it off. I didn't sleep last night for fretting. Also for all the hilarious feline antics that seemed to inevitably end somewhere on my body -- Marmy would chase Dobby and so, of course, the only place possible for them to both end up was... on my hip, my knee, my chest. Anywhere on me. The FuzzBall Kitten played ferociously with his collection of stuffed mice, batting them around the bed until he'd lose them... somewhere under me -- under my arm, my feet, my head. Anywhere on me. This required that he dig, and Buddy Boy hasn't learned the meaning of modulation. He knows one speed and one intensity, and he loosed both on.... me.
Interspersed with all that running, sliding, and digging were bursts of laughter from Fred's workroom. I still don't know what he was doing back there -- likely watching videos or a film -- but he clearly couldn't help himself.
So at about 3 AM, I quit trying and surrendered to the fates. Twelve hours later, I feel like I have Saran Wrap on my eyeballs.
This Philly Thang? It's not going to happen.
No, no one has told me it's off. But the incredible disinterest in making it happen sends a clear message.
The Party Line hasn't changed: Dr. Schwartzman is booked through 2013 and the offer of an "expedited appointment" seems to have been a meaningless one. Like some kind of coupon given out to all comers but never redeemed.
Carol said to me, in a mildly scolding tone, that "she's working on it" but right now there is no way to schedule an expedited appointment. It feels more and more like I've been caught with my pants down in the middle of a Monty Python skit.
Maybe this one:
Host: With me now is Norman St. John Polevaulter, who for the last few years has been contradicting people. St. John Polevaulter, why do you contradict people?
Polevaulter: I don't!
Host: But you... you told me that you did.
Polevaulter: I most certainly did not!
Host: Oh. I see. I'll start again.
Polevaulter: No you won't!
Host: Ssh! I understand you don't contradict people.
Polevaulter: Yes I do!
Host: And when didn't you start contradicting them?
Polevaulter: I did! In 1952!
Host: 1952.
Polevaulter: 1947!
Host: 23 years ago.
Polevaulter: No!
(GONG!)
-- The Man Who Contradicts People from Monty Python's Previous Record
It's equally possible that my role is just to call out a reminder now and then: "I'm not dead [yet!]."
MORTICIAN: Bring out your dead!
[clang]
Bring out your dead!
[clang]
Bring out your dead!
[clang]
Bring out your dead!
[clang]
Bring out your dead!
[clang]
Bring out your dead!
[clang]
Bring out your dead!
[clang]
Bring out your dead!
[clang]
Bring out your dead!
[clang]
Bring out your dead!
[clang]
Bring out your dead!
[clang]
Bring out your dead!
CUSTOMER: Here's one -- nine pence.
DEAD PERSON: I'm not dead!
MORTICIAN: What?
CUSTOMER: Nothing -- here's your nine pence.
DEAD PERSON: I'm not dead!
MORTICIAN: Here -- he says he's not dead!
CUSTOMER: Yes, he is.
DEAD PERSON: I'm not!
MORTICIAN: He isn't.
CUSTOMER: Well, he will be soon, he's very ill.
DEAD PERSON: I'm getting better!
CUSTOMER: No, you're not -- you'll be stone dead in a moment.
MORTICIAN: Oh, I can't take him like that -- it's against regulations.
DEAD PERSON: I don't want to go in the cart!
CUSTOMER: Oh, don't be such a baby.
MORTICIAN: I can't take him...
DEAD PERSON: I feel fine!
CUSTOMER: Oh, do us a favor...
MORTICIAN: I can't.
CUSTOMER: Well, can you hang around a couple of minutes? He won't
be long.
MORTICIAN: Naaah, I got to go on to Robinson's -- they've lost nine
today.
CUSTOMER: Well, when is your next round?
MORTICIAN: Thursday.
DEAD PERSON: I think I'll go for a walk.
CUSTOMER: You're not fooling anyone y'know. Look, isn't there
something you can do?
DEAD PERSON: I feel happy... I feel happy.
[whop]
CUSTOMER: Ah, thanks very much.
MORTICIAN: Not at all. See you on Thursday.
CUSTOMER: Right.
[clop clop]
-- Monty Python and the Holy Grail
For further dissonance, I've got Seinfeld's Soup Nazi between the ears, shouting "No Philly for you!"
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