Sixteen days until I switch to the morgue. As the number dwindles closer my spine shutters. I crave cleanliness and order, neither I will find there. Why am I doing this? I was thoroughly reminded of that today. If anyone in Cincinnati heard a cry of ecstasy about 10am, that was me. A motorcyclist was brought in. The only part of his body that was left in good shape was his head. From his xiphoid process down was nearly demolished. All that kept his organs in was his jacket. I spent all day cleaning the blood off and prepping this foolish man who decided to ride his bike during winter.
I do love the morgue. I have to remember that. It's just been so long. I'm comfortable where I am, doing what I'm doing. It's the side effects of living such a normal life that I can't stand. At least I am able to play my piano again. That helps a lot. Now, to find my tools to bring the rest of my life into order...
No comments:
Post a Comment