You know, don't you. That feeling you get, that strange chill through your entire body . . . Not caused by a draft drifting through the cracks of the sash, the rails of the west window next to your computer. It's the explicable unearthly chill that rattles you, brings you into an awareness, a fearful knowledge . . . something is wrong. Some thing is here with me in this the last stroke of midnight. Some alien thing . . . inside me.
7:30pm
Long day at the oncology lab starting at 9am with the last appointment beginning at 2pm. Looks like they're setting me up for another round of chemo shots. Oh, well. A little discomfort with the chemo, ugly rash too but nothing I can't handle.
Monday, December o9, 2o19
Well, the day at oncology really turned out to be light. Just a blood test and then . . . the evil chemo double shots . . . two RNs on either side of my belly and a count . . . 1-2-3 . . . and they stuck their needles into my sides at the same time and slowly press the plunger down . . . It doesn't hurt as much as it just annoying! Like two bees stinging you at the same time . . . but at a snails pace.
11:42pm
So, the chemo shots are getting a bit annoying tonight. Starting to redden, my flesh is heating up in the areas where they gave me the shots. But have felt worse. So, far it looks like the "treatments" are helping me.
Tuesday, December 1o, 2o19
Up and about already even though my appointment isn't until 2pm.
There are too many voices inside my head since . . . well,
for as far back as I can recall. Multiple voices, screaming, singing, whispering into the inside of my ears. Political voices, the cowards of democracy, capitalism . . . they are the hardest voices to silence. But music helps deaden their hatred their lies. I must listen to more music and lessen the hold those voices inside my head have on me, on my dreams.
10:30pm
I'm feeling a little sleepy. After a shower. Hm. Maybe that's the cure for my insomnia. A nice, warm shower. Anyway, not much I wish to write about tonight. I'll try tomorrow.
Wednesday, December 11, 2o19
Living within the moment in which you are within . . . a difficult task. We really don't know how long an actual moment is. According to Wikipedia:
Although the length of a moment in modern seconds was therefore not fixed, on average a moment corresponded to 90 seconds. Hm. I tend to think of a "moment" as an actor might think about it: a moment is a unit of action, the amount of time it takes to finish an action. So, in acting, at any given moment, you have an objective . . . something that you are trying to accomplish. Simple example: suppose your objective is just to enter a room. the "moment" is the time it takes you to enter the room. Once you enter the room that's the end of that objective and a new objective emerges: you want to sit down in a chair. Again, the moment is the time it takes to sit in the chair. Sometimes finding the end of a unit of action isn't as straight forward as the examples above. But the basic equation for the ending of an objective/action: When the objective has been won or lost or when the objective is put on hold. So, a moment in real life can be defined in the say way as we define a unit of action in a play.
12:53pm
My song lacks a melody. Well, not so much that a melody for my song does not exist. It's more like the melody that there is to my song is sharp, sometimes flat, sometimes the rhythm's off, the time way out of time with the music accompanying it. My song to most human ears is not a song at all . . . only noise created for the sole purpose of torturing the ears of the listener.
Friday, December 13, 2o19
Man. Last night and today . . . a very bad turn for me. I won't go into it much here. But do you remember me talking about how the chemo shots were annoying but not all that painful. Yeah, A bit of a rash that itched. That was about all. But last night after the chemo session? Man, my abs felt like someone used them for a heavy punching bag. Hurt so much I could hardly sleep. And to day . . . ? I could barely get out of a chair and walk even with the use of my cane. I cried because it hurt so bad and because . . . I just did, that's all. I cried.
Saturday, December 14, 2o19
My best friend, David Slemmons, is really a best friend. We went out today for coffee as usual . . . but I was still feeling a bit under the cancer weather today. But we talked, we laughed a bit and then went home. This guy does a lot for me. Yeah, a damn good friend. P.S. wish I could spell better.
Have been slipping in a few poems here and there on Facebook . . . mostly one a night. mostly. Let me see if I can come up with one more the blog:
He dreams of streams and raging rivers
and he never knows which he prefers.
He listens for the sound of ice breaking
and wonders if the world is dying.
He doesn't know what grown up means.
But he's sure he'd rather not be grown up.
Better to be young and naïve forever.
Forever walking through the woods.
So, this is all for this week. Thank you for reading. {
smiles}
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