Food of Love

Music certainly stirs the emotions - it evokes certain feelings, certain tastes and sensations, certain memories. Like the immortal bard once mentioned in the Twelfth Night, if music be the food of love, play on.

And sometimes it actually makes us think of the most peculiar events at the most inopportune hours.

Imagine this. It's raining cats and dogs outside with thunder splitting the air sending city folks scurrying for cover and inside the operating theatre there's sheer pandemonium with the unfortunate destabilizing patient bleeding out a torrential river of scarlet, playing havoc with his vital stats, and there's me, running about all on my own trying to salvage whatever is possible - and fortunately I manage to do so after an hour of mindless panic ( tempered by the fact that I have an obligation to remain at least outwardly perfectly, icily calm in the storm ).

And then just when I manage to catch a breath in the midst of insanity, the most improbable song plays on the radio and impossibly, I start giggling like a crazed inmate. Easy enough to imagine the guy that I love ( that sing-song karaoke fool :) ) doing his little soft, shoop devil sway in his apartment to the retro disco tunes of Scissor Sisters, maybe even in spiked heels with the feather boa trailing behind, and it makes me smile.

What can I say? I'm a weird creature. Blood and adrenaline makes me sentimental.


Don't you feel like dancing?
BTW fear not, gentle reader, the patient's okay too. Doubt he's gonna feel like dancing anytime soon though.