My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Wednesday, October 22, 2014
Justifying the Doctor
Going to the doctor there is concern we will not be sick enough to justify the trip. The time and expense involved make it important that there be "something" though we can hope it will not be terrible. The worst we could hear is that nothing is wrong.
Labels:
expectations,
illness,
justifications
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