I drive to the accountant, Ernie, first thing in the morning and pass on the way a little falling down bungalow with peeling paint and two large quancet style greenhouses in the yard. I wonder how long it would take me to be able to buy some land and I ask Ernie to tell me. Why do you want it? I want chickens. For eggs? Yes. You could buy land, but eggs are $2 at the farmer’s market. I want to take on a new piece of life that’d take decades to realize fully, a farm, a border collie and some goats, maybe a horse, maybe a medical marijuana farm, I could buy a farm in Grimsby and set up a roadside medical pot stand like to sell tomatoes only different and I could get sickly people stoned as hell on their way to Ikea where they could eat 2 hotdogs for a US dollar. He laughs. I come home. I am freezing cold. I eat as much as I can tolerate, but while my stomach bloats in protest, my appendages seem to shrink so I can’t hold heat. My ass seems big enough, but it freezes like a mini marshmallow. I get into the bathtub, the water so hot that I turn bright red and am sweating but I am still ice cold. I try to read, I can’t concentrate. I try to count my blessings, I feel nothing. My brain and heart, betraying and failing me yesterday, are like a man who abuses you then collapses in a despondent heap (pathetic). Irritated and nervously exhausted, I go back to bed at noon. The phone wakes me up. The hospital keeps calling to remind me about pre-op testing as if they intuit I’m liable never to show up for any of this. I remember that my dad got diagnosed w leukemia via pre-op testing, and I’m scared of that too – I’ve never even had my cholesterol tested, I HATE DOCTORS. Just show up and bring a list of anything you’re taking. Like, um, my Shiny Locks and Sparkling Nails vitamins? She laughs.