Denied

I have a letter. A very important letter to the hospital about an MRI scan.

On Monday I filled in all the requisite parts leaving a big long line of 'no' down the pastel blue sheet of paper. No metal plate in my head, no surgery, no, no, no and no. I needed a stamp. I placed it beside my phone and my defunct ipod, that was to be picked up on Tuesday, so that I would not forget it. In the morning it went into the bag carefully slipped into its own separate slot so that it would be noticed and safe. It would be actioned. It would go. It was too important not to. Work was fragmented as it always is. Never long enough on one thing. Firefighting with a water pistol while pyromaniacs run riot with kerosene.

I forgot the letter. Sitting on my desk. Official with its printed address. Anonymous. Brooding. Stamp-less.

I got home and realised my error. A momentary panic quickly brushed aside. Instead I busied myself with finding hotels and things to do in London this weekend. A work thing that has rolled into a fun thing. Galleries and museums. Not hospitals.

Today is a brighter day. The letter sat upon my desk rectangular and brown amidst the chaos. At lunch I got my stamps. Affixed one to the envelope and sought out a post box. Distinctive in its red livery. The end of my worries...

The letter still sits upon my desk. Maybe tonight.