For the past thirty hours or so -- although who’s counting? -- the idea of jelly donuts has appeared recurringly in my mind’s eye. It’s better than actual jelly donuts appearing over and over again in my hand -- and then, most likely in my stomach… although jelly donuts are more messy than tasty, given the choice… although, handed a jelly donut, it’s probably a natural choice to eat it. Who am I kidding?
Honestly.
When someone tries to deliver bad news, they have to be really really skilled not to let the cat out of the bag too soon. Only metaphors and cliches will do in this case, and -- in this case -- I’m using a meta-mataphor to set it up. Mindblowing, really.
So your back… so your discs… like jelly donuts… and between these, the jelly has been drying out… with age (Q: What age do you call 38? A: Exactly.)... and if it was just those two spots we could… but down here… this donut is completely flattened… all the jelly is squeezed out on this side… 1.5 cm… which is actually a lot… nerves… compression… etc.
So: jelly donuts as an exercise in compassion.
Except I’m pretty sure I’ll never eat another jelly donut again.
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