Amid all the talk about PET scans and the eternal public vs. private healthcare debate, I forgot to mention the real tragedy of the week: our TV died.
No warning, no flicker—just eternal black. Sunday morning. Within an hour I was on a mission—researching, comparing, and ordering a replacement. Same size, 65 inches, large enough for aging eyes and small existential crises. It arrived Thursday, and just like that, life had meaning again. A sense of cosmic balance returned.
It’s hard to escape cancer reality when it’s raining outside, the books feel like homework, and an iPad screen feels like watching life through a keyhole.
The TV died—but, thankfully, this particular crisis could be solved with nothing more than a credit card.
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