We experience the stages of our existence at the mercy of a mercurial universe, one that vacillates between unexpected kindness and capricious cruelty. Ascribing human attributes to the cosmos seems absurd—and it is, as I begin to understand that my appreciation of the relationship is backwards. The cosmos does not possess human characteristics; rather, humans demonstrate features of the universe of which we are a part. Humans, though, attribute our own motives or emotions to the cosmos, whereas no such cause-and-effect forces power the universe. We seem to believe the world around us is driven by psychic intention, whereas the reality is that volcanoes, ice ages, tornadoes, tsunamis, terminal disease, and an endless list of other calamities have no intrinsic purpose; they are the results of unplanned and inexplicable randomness. Our powers are limited to our perceptions. They stop there.
+++
After I acquiesced to my body’s insistence that I take another “nap,” I woke a couple of hours ago from almost 12 hours of sleep. I had only been awake from my most recent earlier nap for a couple of hours, but that restless snooze apparently was not enough. Even now, I am not sure 12 hours did the trick. I’ll find out soon enough, I guess. COVID packs quite a punch. Mi novia‘s doctor willingly prescribed, by telephone, paxlovid for her, as did mine. Unfortunately, the pharmacy had only enough for one prescription, so they advised us to share it until the pharmacy can deliver the second prescription on Monday morning. Thanks to the goodness of a very generous man, the one available prescription was delivered to our door yesterday afternoon.
+++
I reported my COVID to the APRN at my oncologist’s office. She postponed my next chemotherapy session for another week; now set for March 3 and my PET-scan also has been postponed for a third time, now on for March 5. Time is a limited commodity. I would rather not run out of it.
+++
The thought of meat of any kind is beyond unappealing now. I have no idea why; I just know I have no interest whatsoever in meat. Yet “they” want me to east meat because it is, they say, the quickest and best way to get protein, which I need to improve my red blood cell count and various other health-related measurements. Instead, I try to make up for meat by eating hummus. And nuts. What I really want, though, is fruit. Peaches. Pears. Grapes. Citrus of all kinds. Watermelon. Strawberries. Plums. Papayas. Blueberries. Raspberries. Blackberries. Mangoes. I’ve tired of things I once craved, including—at least temporarily—oatmeal raisin cookies. Even ice cream does not sound interesting. But very tart lemon sherbet does…old-fashioned homemade lemon sherbet. Or sorbet. My stomach is growling again. Or braying. It sounds more like braying. That’s a new sound for my stomach to make. Fortunately, it has not been honking like geese or making pig-noises…oinks, I guess you’d call such sounds, though I can honestly say I’ve never heard a real animal of any kind make a sound I would describe as an oink.
+++
I dreamed I had quit a job as a police officer and accepted one as a sheriff’s deputy. It was quite an involved dream. One especially frightening scene took place while I was on a walking patrol in a poverty-stricken rural area with a seasoned, very tall deputy. Just after he advised me to carry a “poking stick,” I encountered a copperhead snake. I grabbed it behind the head and squeezed as hard as I could, but it kept slithering out of my grip and attempted to strike me. I think it may have sunk its fangs into my hand once and released venom. There was more, but I do not remember just what.
