I am home in Portland. Spent last night in the quiet of my own space. Surprisingly, I slept well, with no memory of either dreams or nightmares this morning. My body perseveres even while portions of my brain panic.
Nothing more happens til the Thursday surgical consultation. After that, well, I’ll know more. Episodic uncertainty is certainly the name of the game here, and that uncertainty runs in epicycles as well. Smaller worries spiral about inside of larger ones, which are themselves folded into metaworries. My fundamentally optimistic nature has largely resurfaced, but still the wheels turn.
A mixed response to my thought about getting cancer tattoos. As
I did suggest yesterday to
For the nonce, I indulge in comfort eating; an old, old stress response which is bad for the weight, and at best of transitory benefit to the soul. I have decided to just let go of this worry until schedules are settled and fates are sealed, especially so long as I continue exercising.
Finally, as I will never catch up to all of you individually, I want to extend my heartfelt thanks and appreciation to everyone who’s approached me with support via these blogs, over email, chat, text, Twitter, in person, at conventions, via postal mail. As I’ve said before, if love could cure cancer, I’d be the healthiest son of a bitch in North America.
The ones I love most are at the center of my world, but you all are an army marching into my future. On the wings of your regard, I could fly free for a thousand years.