Caleb isn't as calm as I am. I figure out of all of us, I must be the healthiest one. Physically, I mean. Well, except for the parasitic twin that's eating me from my brain outwards. Mentally, I'm the sickest by far.
What did they say it was?
Atrial fibrillation. But I just have to watch it.
Bridget, this is nothing to mess around with.
Yes, I'm totally playing with my heartbeat.
(When I was little I used to think if I held my breath, my heart would sto- Wait. Does it? Does it stop if I hold my breath? I just realized I don't actually know if it does. Great.)
I can call my specialist.
Who is busy and doesn't need you culling favours. My doctor is qualified-
She said to come back if it got worse. Does she know your definition of 'worse' is dead?
I will go back if it gets worse! Jesus! Can we talk about something else? Like how the headaches have been mostly absent? Like how I've got six weeks in on these pills and I'm doing great for once, thanks? Like how this is the busiest weekend of my life coming up and I'm not ready and it's too hot? Or we can talk about how everyone isn't asking the right questions, like 'What can I do, Bridget?' That would be nice to talk about. Yes, indeedy.
Or we could fuck off and go spend the afternoon in bed.
That would mean I would get absolute nothing done.
Not true.
Oh really? What would I get done?
Me. He grins.
I laugh. He's never crass. I love it. Maybe later. (Give the dog a bone) Right now write down eggs and balloons on the list for me, would you?
Together?
Unrelated, but I need both, yes.
