I'm no longer Brooke.  I haven't been Brooke for over 4 1/2 years; I'm only a hollow shell.  Brooke is stuck back on that cold, hard surgery table dating back to September 2003.

She is dead, and I am all that's left.

On the 7^th day God took a marathon nap, but what the Bible neglects to tell you is what God did when he awoke on the 8^th day.  Unfortunately the first thing he created was a hangover, to be followed by Aspirin.  While trying to open the seemingly impenetrable plastic packet of Aspirin God realized he’d forgotten to create some much needed items.  

And so it came to pass that on the 8^th day God created scissors, screwdrivers, jar openers, thumbtacks; parchment paper so he wouldn’t have to wash cookie sheets anymore.

God: Wait, cookie sheets!  I forgot to invent those.  Airbake cookie sheets, even better!  And some sort of cookie jar to hide them from the angels.  Damn Angels always eating my cookies.  That fuckin Lucifer, I’m gonna throw his ass outta here.

Just thought I’d clear that up for everyone.

Quick change of subject: I haven’t been active or replied to any calls and emails because it turns out Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome isn’t as cool as the pamphlet or TV promised; more on that later, or not.

Now back to the non-suicide bomber subject.  You remember that incident I had with the lawyer who owns Steph’s building last year?  Well I learned that in fact he was working on his best friend’s will – his dead best friend.  Ooops.  So yes I seriously felt horrible after discovering that bit of knowledge.  

Thanks to fun-filled organ failure my memories from April 2007 to early December are vague to say the least; consequently I’m forced to pick a season for when I began seeing Steph again.  I think it was Summer.  Whether it was early, mid or late is totally up for grabs.  All I remember is hobbling around with a cane, shaking like a Parkinson’s patient and possessing all the strength of a newborn kitten.  

I stopped in front of his office and called out, “Sir”, and “Excuse me”, to no avail.  Well maybe he was busy sitting in his chair doing nothing, didn’t hear me or perhaps it was just a hologram.  *shrug*  Fair enough.

Another time he got stuck in elevator with me; the doors closed before he had time to slip out and take the stairs.  Here was my opportunity; I had four floors to get my apology out.  And it WAS sincere, I honestly felt terribly guilty.  And thus I did (apologize), I felt terribly sorry for that day, there were no excuses.  He just waved it away.  I said it wasn’t ok, you were working on the estate of your best friend – I can’t imagine what that must feel like.  At this point he began flapping his arms like a bird and couldn’t get out of that elevator fast enough.

Since then attorney for wills and estates John D. Laughton has gone out of his way to stay as far away from me as possible.  One day while I was sitting in the lobby, leafing through a magazine, he came down the hallway talking with someone and seeing them to the elevator.  That is of course until he caught a glimpse of me, and quickly backtracked to the safety of the hallway.  I don’t remember if his client ever made it to the elevator, perhaps they were forced to use the fire escape.  My favorite John D. Laughton (big bad attorney for wills and estates) encounter to date has to be when I entered the elevator, noticed him with a couple colleagues right behind me and stretched out my arm to hold the door open.  He made no move, and yet came right up after me.

John D. Laughton sort of attorney at law out of Monterey, California located on W Franklin Street is seriously starting to get on my nerves.

People who hold the elevator door for you, always take their shopping carts back and in fact go out of their way to move carts that were parked in handicapped spots, pick up and throw away unnecessary litter that some lazy bastard left behind, talk to the cute babies while waiting in line, never fusses with waiters/waitresses because it looks like a damn hard job and also tips obscenely, gives leftovers to a homeless guy, bought a Subway foot long sandwich for a man rummaging through trashcans who seemed invisible to everyone else on the street, gave birthday money to a friend who asked for money at 6:30 AM, have not sued a couple surgeons even though it’s a strong case and sure win, admits when they’re wrong and always gives people benefit of the doubt never fit the profile or description of a suicide bomber.

However one can only take such irrational reactions from others for so long before they start to consider perhaps switching careers after all.