When your tomorrows grow shorter, you can see today diminishing. No amount of detachment or resolve can change that.
This morning I am badly short slept (stress), my GI hurts from an incredible amount of activity over the past twelve hours (stress), and my liver aches (stress). Yet time moves on. Today happens.
I have breakfast with a friend. Another dear friend is arriving from out of town this afternoon for a quick visit. There is a porch party this evening at the house of
But with yesterday's CEA news, I can see my tomorrows growing shorter yet again. There's nothing particularly surprising about this, given how my cancer has progressed throughout the year. Still I am mortally tired. Still I am mortally discouraged. Still I am mortally ill.
It's as if I've been running from the shadows for years. Every now and then they knock me down from behind. My feet are bloody. My kneecaps are cracked from falling over too often. These days the blows from the back are almost continuous. I seriously wonder if I'll live to see Christmas.
I am being eaten from within by runaway cells of my body's own making. I have met the enemy and he is me. I am dying, rather faster than is usual for a man my age.
And I am tired. So tired. Scared, too, incredibly scared, but these days tired seems to be the dominant emotion.