There's a Surgery for That

I’m sitting at the neighborhood cafe half in half out – the sun on my back and in the warmth of the interior. My back is exposed to incoming customers, not my typical God-father corner. But nothing is typical these days - half in half out - all in all out. Either way there’s a daily measure of your commitment to anything and everything.

It’s why you're committed to signing the proverbial consent form – and I’m not talking fat transfers and facelifts. You began contemplating the surgery when you started dodging conversations with your conspiracy theorist brother-in-law, withdrew from that book club, went radio silent about any and all current events.

“I don’t like to go there” or “You just don’t know who you’re talking to these days.” You don’t know and you don’t want to know. You've convinced yourself the Cukoo’s Nest lobotomy will work for you. You will no longer have to think about anything and everything. And what does it matter when millionaires are not billionaires and death tolls don’t rise to obliteration. When nothing’s worth counting except for your daily

Apple alerts, United travel points and 10th free pedicure. Yeah, there’s a surgery for that…but you’re probably not covered.