Foreword:
I don’t know if it’s anything amazing or even significant, but it was definitely an awakening. Like snapping out of a coma to realize that the only thing that really matters is my perception…my attitude…my decisions. That existence is whatever I make it. Knowing this in glorious moments of clarity, only to slip right back out of consciousness.
Actually it’s just a short story. Fiction. Didn’t really happen. Just making it up as I go along. The writer is just rambling now. So why insist on doing this? Why go to all the trouble? Torture my body and my mind and everyone I know. Perhaps it’s an excuse or an attempt at an explanation. In scope, maybe it is done out of sheer boredom… just to have something, anything to say. To add a tinge of color to the never ending void. To do the one thing that in my eternal solitude brings me joy…to have a song to sing. Or, just to make music just for the hell of it. Maybe no one will get it but me. Maybe there is no one but me. But I do believe you’re there, and I want to thank you.
On the other side of it now, who cares if I ever make any money as a writer. Hell, I like digging holes. Anyway I need the exercise. In the end, it’s all just a shrug of the shoulders. But it feels like a gradual fresh start, and I am glad to have it off my chest and out of my hands.
Whatever this is, for me personally, it was definitely an awakening…and I’m feeling much better now.
-- The Cardiologist
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