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June 17, 2003
The document was sent to my office by afternoon mail. In large, bold letters, in the lower left quadrant of the envelope, someone had typed the words: PERSONAL AND CONFIDENTIAL.
Personal and confidential? Why should I open it? "Personal" was never good. If personal was so hot, why the frequent admonitions against taking comments so personally? Because personal sucks, that's why! and "Confidential?" Confidential is just another word for nothing left to lose. No, wait...that's freedom. Confidential suggests a confidence, and that means I'll owe somebody big-time once I'm let into it. I say leave me out of your confidences. And who the fuck are you sending me this burden? What have I done now?
I opened the envelope at arms' length, like I was milking venom from a rattlesnake. Inside the envelope was my sleep study, my polysomnography results, to be exact.
74 respiratory events with an average duration of 24.56 seconds. Maximum duration was 43.70 seconds. This can't be good. Wait. It gets worse. 14 "microarousals" were recorded. Micro? Microarousals? God, how I hate all that is personal and confidential!
© 2003 by the beastmaster