May winter. 35 degrees this am. Rain. A chilly, somewhat wet week ahead. A delight with cool nights. As if May knew what we’d missed and decided to make up for winter’s puny showing.

My good friend Tom’s visit is over today. Back to Minnesota. When he comes, we talk of matters both profound and humorous. Tom and I have been Woollies for the same amount of time, ritually welcomed together at Valhelga. Old friends.

He remarked yesterday on the strong bonds Kate and I formed with others at Congregation Beth Evergreen. Moving the fridge. Alan’s cinnamon rolls. Tara’s visits with Eleanor. Ginny and Janice including me in their family. Rich. Jamie. Part Judaism. Part the folks we got close to.

Thinking over my fall. Believe I might have briefly passed out from the hypotension. Probably triggered the fall. I’ve made modifications including sitting on the edge of the bed before I get up. Helps.

I’m at another hinge point. I need some p.t., some other help or I’m on a downward slope. The actinium trial is my last stand. If it doesn’t produce good results, I don’t imagine I’ll sign up for any more treatments. Too tired. Too weary of the fuss and bother. I suppose hospice would make sense then.

This trial is far from over. I’ve had one treatment out of eight. No telling results till number 4 or so. It may yet yield lowering of my PSA and my tumor burden. We’ll see.

This is, for me at least, not bad news. I accept where I am, what the situation is. No life goes on forever.

An NYT journalist went to four Chinese cities during the recent Trump visit and asked residents what they thought of Dopy Don. “Brutal” and “Unfriendly” lead their answers. I read this article, then turned on my TV to a Paramount ad for a major UFC event. Clips featured MMA fighters kicking each other in the head, punching and grappling. UFC Freedom 250. Location? The Whitehouse! June 14th.

Brutal. Unfriendly. Not to mention embarrassing.