Tales from the Emergency Department; in which a man who wallows in nostalgia, and secretly wishes he were a Victorian KnifeMan rants about his work and what passes for a life.
He's heard it might be therapeutic...
Names have been changed to protect the innocent.
Any resemblence to parties alive or dead is purely coincidental
Made a new friend this weekend. I haven't decided on a namefor her yet. I mean, I know her name; I'm just not sure of a blog name...
Anyway, we spent a long time discussing her father; he was a big man in the world of medicine, and an even bigger man in her life. I sympathise. I share her feelings, except my dad is still alive.
I advanced the theory that what our parents have to do is make room for us, give us the world, give us our own time. Maybe this is selfish. My dad, and mum, are still here; but I know they'll go sometime, maybe even soon. I hope not... but it has to happen, doesn't it?