Hunkered into a 1947 US military goose-down sleeping bag, checking the blood oxygen occasionally probably is about as good a way as any to reach Nirvana.
Hi readers:
The coincidence coordinators decided last week that it’s still early times for figuring out what the Veterans Administration Medical Drama Department has in store. Spang shut down their offices mid-week, filled up their voice mail boxes to overflowing before I developed the good sense to bow to the inevitable.
The cats appear to be indifferent to the challenges. Whatever the hell it was caused me to decide I needed to sign up to see a VA medical person will have to get in line behind an ice-melt. Evidently it had nothing at all to do with blood oxygen, anyway.
The cats are laughing their asses off at me about the whole thing.
Old Jules
So Far From Heaven 