A 10am doctor's appointment, palpitations and a sore ear. The same as last time, the same doctor, attractive, I call her by her first name and she says she remembers me from before.
We have a friend in common. It strikes me as odd that I have a contemporary in a white surgical coat fitted just...about...right. I let it pass as she feels my pulse.
As I said. Attractive.
Heart rate is fine. No ring on the finger. Blood pressure is within bounds. Last time a ring. "Less booze and no coffee" is the mandate, I make nice and I leave. All cordial like.
Suffolk Street is swaying, a pre-tempest. A group of Italian girls are screaming at the Molly Malone as I make my way up Grafton Street, not really sure of my destination. I head west on to Wicklow Street and eat pancakes and blueberry mush.
"Give me a call if you've any more concerns."
Left or right? Decisions. I head for George's Street, ten paces later turning back. Tower is a great place for people who don't know what to do next, where to go next, so I walk in and look for a film I've forgotten the name of and leave without buying a thing.
I pick up some food, some fish and root vegetables, I pass the surgery again and I keep going.
Nobody falls or slips anymore but my garden is still wet snow, not yet slush, so I tread carefully and pick up my post. Junk. I go inside to make coffee before I remember the 'no no,' so it's some disgusting herbal tea and I hit the corrections.
I marvel at the mistakes. Repetition, uncapitalised place names, apostrophes akimbo and one lad who can't spell 'because.' I get through half of them with a groan and a red pen and realise two hours have passed.
I pick up the phone. I put it down. I think about calling. I put it back down.
I stare at the blogs, note that nobody's in. I think of a story but nothing comes out. I update my status and click on a name. I quickly click out thinking 'these things leave marks.'
I feed the beast.