The alarm clock is unwelcome, with its loud, insistent tone
I’d throw it out the window, but it’s otherwise my phone
The household’s sleeping soundly; I’m awake and I’m alone
At 2 AM
The world is strangely silent, with the birdsong not begun
The waning moon is setting and it’s hours before the sun
There’s lots of work ahead of me; I’d better get it done
At 2 AM
I turn to the computer, cos I’m kind of in a bind
I’m desperate for distraction at the moment, and I find
That composing this is slowly, surely, waking up my mind
At 2 fifteen
There’s a vile-tasting liquid, and I’ve got to drink a glass
Cos they’re going to take a mini-cam and run it up my ass
As I taste the horrid sweetness, I’m assured “this too shall pass”
At 2 fifteen
Now I’ve tossed aside the blanket and I’ve dimmered on one light
And my body senses laxative and knows it isn’t right
And the lemonade-detergent won’t go down without a fight
At half past two
One glass down, and then another, now to work on number three
I can think of many places, many times, I’d rather be
But it’s part of turning fifty, so I’m lucky, can’t you see?
At half past two
I have lived for fifty years now, on this planet I adore
If I’m careful and I’m lucky, I could live for fifty more
It’s a simple motivation, as I contemplate glass four
At half past two
It’s the final glass of medicine, and then it’s to the sink
Cos there’s still a lot of water that they’re gonna make me drink
But it’s quiet, oh so quiet, so it gives me time to think
At 2:45
But thinking keeps me busy, till the nasty part is through
I guess that’s why I wrote it, and why I’ll share with you
But I think it’s time to post this, cos there’s stuff I gotta do
At 2:45
(Written from 2:15 through 3:10 AM. So, not exactly accurate, but close enough.)
You’ve lived much longer than the normal cuttlefish lifespan, congratulations.
But are you in hospital, or what? Turning 50 doesn’t usually involve minicams in odd places, or so I understand.
It’s part of the standard 50,000 mile checkup–at least where we are, a colonoscopy is a routine part of your 50-yr physical. Not expecting them to find anything.
I hope you’re alright, Cuttlefish. May you find yourself in a clear limpid pool with a dish of little crunchable crabs on hand for when you get peckish.
I’m just fine, embertine; thanks!
Heh–this is as close as I can come to live-blogging the procedure, since I’ll be knocked out for that. Lucky readers–I live-blogged the prep instead!
Live-blogging the event might not be too interesting, anyway.
It’d be hard coming up with rhymes for “Augh, my bum”, while it was still going on, I think.
Arghh! :/
Been there, done that–glad to hear the “see you in ten years” from them.
Sounds all too familiar. Except for the 2:00 AM part; I had the good sense to get my 60,000 mile check done first thing in the morning so I could go through the prep the evening before. My butt was literally bleeding by the time I got through all four liters (well, almost all) of that stuff.
Been there, done that, thrice. A quarter of my colon out between two of them. (Well you SAID “tmi”!) And my Drs. have thrice said “good job on the prep.”
I’d rather, if you please, simply to be patted on the head!
P.S. Continuing TMI, no cancer yet.
Poxy
Somehow I’ve managed to avoid that so far, although I’ve had to listen to others drinking the horrid stuff.
Knocked out? Not just a relaxant?
You’ve arranged for someone to drive you home, I hope?