Don't Work Too Hard, Señor

 At my job, where I do what illegals undocumented guests of our compassionate nation rarely are willing to do, the lady who could be called my boss was concerned I might work too hard.   The prospect that I could become "overheated" seemed to be a scenario she was dreading.

I guess the others told her what it was like when I had the attack of madness a week or two ago.  But I have been so excited that the usual issues have gone dormant that I do extra things just because I can.  I promised the thin air that if I'm really getting better then I'll be good from now on.  That is easy because I always be good. Soy un buenito dos zapatos---I'm a goody two shoes, if I ever saw one.

Something is up still, but I'm thinking it will all fade away and I will expect an official announcement celebrating the miracle.  I'd like to assume the post of saint, with all the rights and privileges the office commands.  I'm guessing a nice little pension-- nothing pretentious but enough to get by.  Maybe a little saint's cottage somewhere in the country, and whatnot.

We'll work out details later.  First we have to go through the tedium of healing, then days of being humble yet vocal for PR purposes, and finally, I'll hire Jay Carney--I need someone who can say anything in any context, and no matter what it is, do it with a straight face and sincere demeanor.

It is weird to feel such of the same stuff that preceded or was present during an attack to still be wandering around inside, yet no itch burn insane discomfort.

One day this cabin will be the talk of a tourist tour.  "Here is where the miracle began..."

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