Spring and the Trial Moon

Monday gratefuls: Some sleep. Joe. Shadow. Money. Visiting Angels. Katie. Samantha. Morning sun. Dog run. Orbit gum.

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Alpha emitters

Kavannah: Contentment, Histakop. I have enough. Friends. Family. Money. Health. House. Help

Tarot: paused

One brief shining: The night time insult parade. Nope. Not sleepy. Where’s my duvet? This side, that side. Down. Up, the most comfortable. Get up. Go back to bed. Get up again. Moisten mouth. Back. No joy. That frustrated, purposeless moment when you realize: sleeps not coming.

 

My mind. Not shuttered, but turned way down. Thick liquid between its work and my reality. Lasts more or less all day. Hard to do anything except visit.

Sent word to RMCC. Sam. Asking for help.

Thoughts come and go, Michelangelo.

As with other moments, recent and faraway, when stressed my mind often shifts topics. In particular, considering the long term stress from over 11 years, wondering how much longer this sort of historic abomination I’ll put up with.

My body feels tired of it all. Would rather hole up in a cozy corner and read a book. Judy Sherman, my friend who chose death with dignity, told me: My body has had it. I now understand the depth of that short, simple statement.

This trial is my last stand. If it doesn’t produce bang up results–much lower PSA, tumors in retreat–I’ll look again at hospice. Weary.

Some of this is discomfort talking. Some of it comes from the bone weariness of piloting a sinking ship.

All I got for now.