Massless

The dying, generally, are humorless.

I have yet to see someone die with a final bon mot. Or a one-liner. I've asked for limericks, knock-knock jokes, and puns and given the efficacy of my eliciting a response I might as well have been whistling in a typhoon. Which is a totally wasted opportunity. (Totally, totally wasted.) I mean, shit, I have to finish regardless - they may as well find something to laugh about.

First, is the stomach.

What am I cutting? Funny. Please don't interrupt.

*snip*

I did enjoy a kind of surprise yesterday, though. Well, not exactly "enjoy." But it was - I mean, it gave me pause.

When you tell a person that something will occur...some intent to harm, they jerk and cover a portion of their body. Head? Eyes? Genitals? Yeah, sure, sometimes. But not first.

First, is the stomach. Every. Single. Time.

But that's not what surprised me. I doubt any physical part of the job could shock me now. But I'm relatively new at this, maybe there's a "Gotcha!" somewhere waiting for me.

No, I was surprised by an epiphany. I didn't expect that feeling - that "a-ha!" - the "Eureka!" kind of thing.

They're covering the womb. The beginning and the end. The circle. The possibility.

I think. I mean, I find that pretty amazing. Especially since it's gender-neutral. It's like a phantom psychological limb. Or better yet, a phantom umbilical cord.

Wow.

And it made me think of something really excellent - something to say just...before. I mean, like my colleagues, I have a list of stuff I like to say...but this shit is original. It's -oh christ what am I looking for- *(update just consulted m-w.com) Right, it's sublime.

So what is it? What will I say now?

I'd rather not say. Not now - not right now.

*snip*

Maybe...maybe when we see each other again.