My brain is full of old lessons reiterated.
How to wash my hands and what a stroke is and general patient care. For a while, I pondered the point of my existence and the ambiguous role of high tech medicine in the modern world.
I want a massage more than I can express, and as soon as I know my schedule for certain, I will go for one. My back is screaming blue-pain at me, and there is little I can do this week. Doing what I can.
Paper drifts threaten to engulf.