My Dora, Your Dora

This is true.
Is it?
Yes.
Why, because you say so?
Because I imagine it.
What's the real issue?
Why do you ask?
Because I see you are lame. (I awoke several weeks ago with a stiff neck. Over several more weeks this turned into intense and sustained pain in my right arm until the damn thing went numb, then limp and I couldn't work. Shooting dull nerve pain.)
I have a spell cast on me. I've let the spell in to work. To kill me even, if it can.
I see, so we can see how brave you are?
I guess. More how stupid but I like where you're going with that.
You'll understand just how stupid it is in time.
Why time? You always ask me for time. More fucking time. More fucking waiting.
Patience is your weakness. That and slow dull nerve pain. Lets not forget the sciatica.
You're forgetting fevers. Last year it was the plague of throat ulcers.
Yes the high temperatures to chill your active, stubborn, spongy mass. Rose my boy. My idiot child.
I've got a few more years of neurotransmitters in there. Fucker.
(silence)
You can't take it casual.
(silence)
fool.

Without much choice and no clear second option, I finally visit the clinic where the doctor report concern because no discernible trauma caused the pain and the intensity is visibly affecting my movement. "This is very troubling" I think were his words. There is brief discussion of MRI and repeated questions of nerve disease. Slow and painful death. I thought of Charlie, god bless his soul, in his chair as the life was choked out of his failing body by a cruel disease from a loving god.

The following day, on an agonizing early morning trip back to the clinic for expensive follow-up treatment the car radiator blew which caused it to seize up in the turn lane near a busy entrance ramp to the interstate. I put on the flashers (which malfunctioned), crawled to the nearby grassy knoll between ramp and traffic-choked highway and called triple a. A painful hour later help arrived and I spent the 500 bucks my mother had direct deposited from her own state of poverty to fix the fucking car instead of paying the incorrigible institution. I was literally moaning in the cab of the tow truck. The driver recommended yoga.

Back at the studio I lay again, in fear of travel, MRI, bad news, women, life, death, consciousness and total collapse. I canceled the lecture at work, holed up and planned for the end. Writhing pain. Acceptance. Then a friend hooked me up with clinical massage. The therapist released my seized trapezius (incredibly) and sent me on the mend. That night Buttercup came to town and treated the whole incident like a distraction. The next day, after behaving similar, I kicked her out of the studio in dramatic fashion, returned to my painful bed and haven't spoken with her since. I felt I made a solid decision.