I had a physical this week.  A very nice doctor looked into my ears and eyes.   He had me balance on one foot and he listened to me breath.  He told me to eat more fiber and have a Woman's exam, you know, of the breasts and uterus.  But he didn't test my heart.

   Oh, they took the blood pressure.  It was fine.  They will test the urine and the blood.  But there is something missing.  I want to know how my heart is beating.  I want to hear someone say that that red valentine in the very core of my being hasn't been irrevocably damaged with time and heart ache.

   I know people who died of a broken heart.  I can hear the thumping of the thing inside my body and I know it has fluttered and sputtered over the years just trying to keep up with all the crazy adventures I have had.  There should be a test for heart ache.  There should be an electrocardiogram that prints out a steady pattern and gives you a passing grade for surviving.

   I have a vision for Valentines Day that I can't get out of my mind.   I want to make hearts and then take a blow torch and scorch the middle right out of them.  I want to see a big hole burned into all the little fancy hearts that give so much hope to the world and then get stepped on.  Do you sense a little anger here? Perhaps.  But maybe it is just the way this carbon world evolves.  Hearts grow and then they get old and die.  It happens naturally.  

   So Doctor Doctor take all your fancy tests and probes and let it be known that I have a strong heart and I am surviving just fine.  Hope.  I have hope that what this moment right here gives me is enough.  I am fine.   It is just that stupid Valentines Day coming  gets me all riled up.