It's a strange holiday so far in the sense that this is the first year that my brother has been moved out. He hasn't even moved away, he's just closer to Portland. But I didn't expect that this house should feel so much emptier now that his stuff is gone. It's eerily quiet without the muffled squawks of his Gibson Les Paul in the basement.
Otherwise, however, everything else is as it should be: Mom flusters about the house arranging and re-arranging details for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day; Dad adjourns to his club chair every evening after dinner to snicker intermittently at his nightly 2 episodes of Two and a Half Men; the dogs bark constantly; I sleep later than I have any right to.
But that belies all that has happened since my arrival in the wee hours of Saturday morning: I've already been to Seattle and back to visit pre-med pal Stephanie and TV news pal Greg. I have concluded that 3 nights is all I really need in that town before I'm ready to hit the road again. Just enough time to drink some good coffee, eat some good food and get an earful of Gregory's vociferous and colorful rants on such grand topics as pot-holes, pedestrian torpor, and a number of individuals who "clearly need to just die" as punishment for their character flaws. What a lamb.
And I haven't thought one bit about "diffuse bilateral reticular nodular infiltrates" since last Friday's exam--until today when DTak facebooked me to inform me that the clouds over Hawaii resemble such at the moment. Now, instead of Christmas, I've got sarcoidosis, pneumonitis and interstitial lung disease on my mind.
Thanks a lot, D.
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