So, I have gotten bad news before: death of my father, jobs, an ex-wife, family, friends. Nothing hit me quite like, “you have cancer.” Then came, “…, and we have a pill that works.” We waited and saw for a few months, not as long as I had hoped and started treatment. 7 days of this chemo. Just don’t know how I feel.
Category: art
My Pirated Life
Bruce Kison died at 68. I got a few more years than he. He pitched in relief in the 1971 World Series, one that heralded the end of day baseball in the Fall Classic. He left the game for a pitch hitter who drove in the winning run and therefore earned a win while not doing much more than holding the Orioles from scoring for 6 innings. He got an obit in the NYT with two pictures. Baseball stats don’t lie.
Choosing A Cure
Looking Good In Decline
Got a haircut and beard trim. Better to look good than to feel good at this point, while I still do and can. Barber said he was tired of working, considering retirement as he approached 70.
“I’m 71,” I replied.
“You don’t look 71,” he responded, shocked, taking a second look at the mirror to make sure his guess was based on actual appearance and not just a good natured compliment.
“What does 71 look like?”
No Time For Smiles
Dark Days Lie Ahead
Remission isn’t an option.
Street Rochester 2017
Nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide.
Resigned
Not knowing how to feel or what it feels like to feel good poses a problem. The harder it is to know who I am or why the less I care about what everyone else feels about me. The challenge is to make the remainder meaningful, despite having been ravaged in the past.
Nailpaints
Choices I don’t have to make. Just getting my nails done, simple. Clip. Push the cuticles. Hand massage. Buff. No polish. Nothing to bite. Done.
Healthy Somewhat
