I enter the room.
Paleozoic.
Late.
Late Paleozoic.
Nervous.
Confused.
Did I misdiagnose
the self diagnosis?
Did I imagine
it all?
Perhaps this
is just normal.
Everyone waits
their turn.
Silent. Pensive.
Are they
too, imagining worst case scenarios?
Am I
uncommon?
I get
nervous.
As if the
schoolmaster is about to deliver the bad news.
I failed.
Health
check failed.
I’ve had
cancer three times in the last half hour,
AIDS,
insomnia, rabies and a mild condition of yellow fever.
And the
worst is yet to come, when I enter that room and (almost in tears) deliver my diagnosis
and the doctor confirms that indeed, I am a hypochondriac…
2 comments:
Que puedo decir? Just you are right!! ja,ja,ja, excelente me gustó la reflexión ya lo había pensado pero no tengo la facultad de poner las palabras tan coreográficamente. Te faltó la parte en la que pasás la depre antes de tu muerte. Y el sufrimiento de tu pobre madre. Buen argumento para una obra de teatro.
... suele pasar...
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