Is this Website trying to tell me something?

Why has all the text on my previous posts suddenly turned grey? I have gone back and changed a few, but still. No editorializing from the nebulous ghost in the machine, please. Anyway, for the next three weeks my days will be obliterated by my 10am to 10pm ER shift (you WISH it was filled with EMS personnel dashing in yelling stats, handsome doctors and moral quandries created by just-complex enough patients--not to say it's boring, 'cause it really isn't, or that we don't have good looking doctors, but really, when's the last time someone peeed on the floor or tried to bite the doctor on TV?). It's amazing how coming to work in daylight and leaving at night makes you feel like a time-lapse photograph on fast forward. I get tired just thinking about it. The animals that come to us can often be at death's door, so this is a poem for all my potential patients.

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.