Still sucking wind past my teeth

The word this far...

...is just more of the same.

I had the MRI yesterday (well, Thursday, depending when I post this). One thing I will confirm--that sucker is LOUD! Even with earplugs and a set of headphones, the clicks and hums of the machine were deafening. I can't say that I felt much in the way of discomfort; when I was inside the doughnut, I had the strong sense that I was inside a spacesuit a la 2001; A Space Odyssey. The worst part was when the contrast was injected, and I experienced a wave of nausea.

A dillemma; I am neither so naive to believe that true love is going to fall into my lap; neither am I so sanguine as to believe that love is beyond my reach. What to do? What to do?

Recently acquired Carmilla: The Return, and the first chapter demands a worthy antagonist. A stereotypical vampire hunter, complete with cliched phrases like "Your kith shall be avenged."
Too cliched, or not cliched enough? How does one determine how this should play out?

Yet more poking and prodding come Monday.

Night Light-- a marvellous little horror story.

I wish I could write like this; the inversion of one of man's most primal fears--fear of the dark--into a thing of comfort and safety is an act of dark brilliance (yes, yes, I know--obvious pun, but it works). I am in awe of this of this storyteller's art.

Why can't I do this? I feel like an ape in a cage, forever looking out at a thing of painful beauty, forever beyond my reach.

In other news, Igor's biopsy results came back, and it is definite--I have cancer. To be specific, I have Invasive Adenocarcinoma; a rather pedestrian strain, but still serious enough to require serious treatment.

Underwent CT Scan on Wednesday--not an altogether unpleasant experience (my doom & gloom side expected quite a bit more discomfort, but it was thankfully absent). The barium drink that one has beforehand was not the chalky mess of previous years, but a rather bland fruit smoothie. Making sure one drank one bottle in 45 minutes, then a second in 45 minutes was a bit discipline-intensive, though--who really times how long they take to drink something? The contrast dye for the upper thorax was an experience, though--if that warming sensation is supposed to compare to a shot of whiskey, then I ain't drinking the right sour mash, brother!

And if that is what a "hot flash" is like, why don't I see more women suddenly running around going "Help! HAAAAALLLLLLLP!!! I'm on FIRE!", because that's what it felt like. Going through that on a regular basis would drive me crazy!

On the subject of the opposite sex--I think She might be reading my journal; when she stopped by the desk last week, I got the distinct impression that she had a great deal to say to me, but didn't quite know how to do so.

And I find that oh, so interesting.