You know how some days are just ... off ... like slightly off kilter, off balanced? Just a bad day. That was today. Not cancer-wise. Just generally. Waking up late. Rain threatening. Work bad. Stabbed in the back and disrespected. Not a good feeling after 10 years. Ended up getting an innocent person drawn into a mess. Ick. I'm glad I'm old. I don't want to work 30 more years. I wish I could walk away today. Become a bookseller at Barnes & Noble. But there, cancer does rear its head. Now I have a "pre existing condition," and likely I'll never get insurance again. The Republicans will capture the House and Senate, overturn Obama's pitiful healthcare law, and I'll be living under a freeway overpass somewhere. Do I sound sorry enough for myself? Yes, a self-pitying wretch am I.
Keeping things in perspective, the 14 year old nephew of a colleague at work is battling cancer again. Back in his bones. He's been battling since he was 8 or 9. Back to Sloan Kettering this week. I am full of self-pity because of a bad day. And this young man? The ways of the world are hard and mysterious. I reel.
Okay, I am clinging to this shred of a more hopeful outlook: I received beautiful pictures of my grandson yesterday from my son. I'm going to post one here and go have a short glass of Jack Daniels.
Peace. Peace to my wrinkled angry heart. Peace across the whole wild world. Peace. Justice. Joy. Health. To one and all. Strong bones. Strong hearts. Peace.
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