When you read, you’ve got to focus on what you are doing, rather than listening with one ear while you make spaghetti and try to housebreak the puppy. You have to ponder the words and put the meaning together yourself, without the inflection added by the newsreader. You have less visual stimulation and more mental challenge.
The bottom line of good care is a caring doctor. But when docs are chasing shadows on film, they begin to focus more on those images more than the flesh and blood they represent. Part of this is our problem—we want a quick diagnosis and a complete cure. We believe in the mystic wisdom of tests. But there is no magic there and even the science can be a bit uneven.
That’s all life is, you know: a series of tiny moments. So don’t try to look at the future as a giant whole to conquer and stew about. Look at this moment, right now. This tiny bit of life you control.
Losing our wooded paths to a forest fire is liking losing the old familiar faith in our health after a serious diagnosis. We're stripped of our security about our future and clarity about our present, which have been replaced with a vague route through an unfamiliar and frightening landscape.
I was not actually connected to her in any way traditional human way—I did not actually even know how she looked, I had never met her husband or kids, we had no common friends. We shared a cancer diagnosis and a long line of emails and one phone call. Yet I grieve her death.
This season seems a bit cheap and lazy and ill-considered, like you have no idea how to take this plot to the next level, so you turn to death, random character, and thin twists of fate. And we are supposed to buy it in the name of good entertainment. Well, killing our favorite people and refusing to give the others a break is, at the very least, uninspired.