Through the wonders of modern technology and unsecured wireless internet, I am posting this from the waiting room of the doctor’s office. I’m starting to feel like I’m participating in Sartre’s No Exit. Either that or I’m in Dr. Seuss’ The Waiting Place. Not happy either way. Our hopes for a quick diagnosis of Howard’s lingering cough are waning. Odds are good that we’ve spent all this time (three hours now) and money (yet to be determined) to be told that they can’t find anything specific. Yeesh. Can I go home now? Please? I’m hungry.