As I was trussed in the Hannibal Lector mask and chest weights and shoved into the tiny white tunnel, I thought to myself,
“Lying in an MRI machine for 1 and 1/2 hours is like going to a really expensive and loud Philip Glass concert performed by a giant woodpecker.”
I have a bad feeling.
Hopefully it’s just because last time I was hit in the back of the head with the cancer shovel and this is my brain’s way of coping.
I will know more tomorrow.
(fatty necrosis fatty necrosis fatty necrosis.)