Maybe the medicine is working, when from nowhere the thought appeared:
The medicine has made you complacent, and you forgot to change the Band-Aid this morning.
I was pretty sure I had actually changed the Band-Aid right after waking up,
just before I brushed my teeth, but the thought was insistent.
I don’t think you changed it. I think this is last night’s Band-Aid.
Well, it’s not last night’s Band-Aid because I definitely changed it at lunch.
Did you, though? I think so. You THINK so? I’m pretty sure. And the wound is open.
Which was true. It hadn’t yet scabbed over.
And you left the same Band-Aid on for—God—probably thirty-seven hours by now,
just letting it fester inside that warm, moist old Band-Aid.
I glanced down at the Band-Aid. It looked new. You didn’t. I think I did. Are you sure?
No, but that’s actually progress if I’m not checking it every five minutes.
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