40

Low 80s and sunny.

Six treatments left to go. 

Recent words of wisdom from the gentleman who drives me:

"Jose Bautista went from forty home runs to shit on a stick just like that".

"All these guys calling in with their ideas got paper assholes."  I still have no idea what that means and I'm afraid to do a web search.

I'll miss him when this is over.  I suspect I may also miss the weekday structure that's imposed on me.  I mean I won't miss it per se but I think I'm heading toward trouble work wise because I can set my own structure and due to certain changes at my workplace (mainly the move to this kind of disaster) I may behave in a manner not healthy to what's left of my career. 

Ah well, I've been continuously employed since the age of 16 so I'm due to be among the ranks of the unemployed.  It's only fair to both me and the kids who will benefit by being promoted in my absence.  Then again I've metaphorically shot myself in the foot so often it's hard to believe I can still metaphorically walk so who knows how my overlords will react. 

I've been trying to memorize the sounds of treatment.  Just the ones I hear on the table.  The whir of elevation, the thing that sounds like a bucket of ice being dumped into a metal tub, the buzz-beep of starting that might be a a perfect fifth but I'm not a musician so who knows, the horse whinny that precedes the start of the rotation and the wingingignginginging of the arms of the machine as they go one way, the other, and back again. 

Nothing else left to do when I'm laying there and it would probably be weird to ask to bring my phone in to record it.  I just did a you tube search and weirdly there's no demo video that I can find that exactly replicates the treatment I'm getting.    Guess I'll just have to rely on memory.

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