ten
And for awhile, meaning a series of days, I became an anarchist within, wanting to blame myself, wishing for the process of dying to come quicker, refusing to eat as there was no taste on my palette, even the thought of chewing was taking energy that I once had.
Now I struggle with it, almost able to calculate to the second, definitely within the minute, when my stomach begins to roll, the nausea so intense I either sit outside curled up or lay quietly on my bed thinking that if my disease were not enough, the hospital bed I am borrowing for the sake of comfort, sucks.
I thought of what the Lama told me and laughed and realized the self hell was not helping me and I needed once again to embrace my disease. With determination I spoke back to that inner voice feeling as though I had taken something that I owned, something I wanted to keep, myself.
Once again, with courage and hope, I will continue this journey as long as I am able to continue at which point I am fairly convinced, if not certain, that a new journey will begin in the spiritual world.
In the present, I concentrate on a decent night's rest as I have remained awake countless nights, finding something to do, finding something I misplaced, talking on the tele, responding to e-mail or just laying there wondering when I would run out of sheep to count, only to forget the number I had counted, thus re-starting from one again.
Finally, last night, I slept, not meaning to at the moment but I slept hard, waking with some energy. The energy gone after walking about for no less than ten minutes and definitely no more than thirty minutes. Still, I enjoyed the depth of my dreams which I thought about blogging, but decided to keep them to myself, the details slowly dissipating as the day progressed.
I began the day with one dog which soon became two and before my morning shower, there were three, my mother had left with her friend, my father watched his television. I walked about and tried to calm the army of animals that was demanding my attention and asked two questions directed toward my father only to receive silence from him, telling me later he never heard me and I replied, 'that's the point, you never have.'
I looked at my watch and found myself exhausted and the hour was just a bit past the ten mark. I spent the rest of the day trying to wake up, enjoying the fact that my accomplishments were simple and as I sit here still tired I notice the clock is approaching ten one more time only this ten is dark.
The house has become silent and I enjoy what I am not listening to...
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