I guess I am not done.

Here’s what should have happened today, in case the universe is confused and would like to hear my version of the plan. My mom, sisters and brother wait in the waiting room while the brain surgeon skillfully and handily fixes my dad’s aneurysm. There are a few moments of tension, and from time to time, he says things like, “Sponge” and “Scalpel” and a quick, attractive assistant immediately provides said objects. My mom might pace a little. Who am I kidding? My mom doesn’t pace. My mom would tell my brother to pace. My brother would get up and pace.

Then, the operating room door would open. A nurse would come out, wearing a big grin. The surgery was a resounding success. Everything is better. No. Everything is better than better. In fact, my dad can now speak four languages and play the saxophone. He has, in the intervening moments, even come up with a new form of math, which is like, way harder than calculus. He is sitting up, holding court for the doctors and nurses right now if you want to go see him, the nurse would tell my mom and sibs.

The uplifting music would swell and my brother and sisters would give each other high fives and back slaps and whoops of joy and relief. They would call me and I would shriek and jump up and down. I would put a funny blog post up and then exhale for the first time, truly, in three, maybe four weeks. My mom would go to his bedside and hold his hand and we would all be so relieved. Later, everyone would go out for ice cream.

So, you can see that for me, being a reluctant planner, this was enough of a plan. Not having this plan realized, not even close, I am sort of stunned. What next?

Well, I know what’s next. I am going out for ice cream. Fuck you, aneurysms.