I wonder whether a recent string of confusing absent-mindedness…or whatever it is…is just coincidental or is related to my condition and/or the treatments for it. On one hand, I really want to know, but on the other I do not want to call unnecessary attention to something that need not be a subject of focus. If I can just sleep my way through the confusion, I will be content to ignore it. I did that last night. I took a “nap” at around 6:00 p.m., I think. I woke at 9:30, long enough to eat an ice cream bar, then went to bed. Phaedra woke me again sometime after 4:00 this morning and here I am—sleepy and wanting nothing more than another few hours of unconsciousness.
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The second radiation treatment was of much shorter duration than the first. That, I was told, was because the first treatment involved the radiologist double-checking to make sure the treatment was in alignment with the plan. It was. So the eight remaining treatments should be tolerable…I hope. I do not do well on a hard, flat table; my body rebels with excruciating pain. I am a wimp.
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Yesterday afternoon, I listened to the tail end of an NPR interview in which Terry Gross discussed the current state of events in Iran and the rest of the Middle East with Karim Sadjadpour, senior fellow at the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace. Sadjadpour says the “war of choice” that was started quickly became a “war of necessity” when Iran opted to close the Strait of Hormuz. By the end of their conversation, my understanding of the turmoil had improved; but so had my appreciation for the extraordinary complexity of the circumstances that helped trigger the current crisis. I am confident that simple solutions to the problem that is Iran do not exist. No matter how badly the rest of the world wants peace and stability in the region, it will not arrive on the wings of jet fighters and bombers. How—or whether—it will ever arrive probably will not be answered for a very, very long time.
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Now that Phaedra and I have both been fed, I think it appropriate to return to bed. My mind is unwilling to function coherently at the moment, so any efforts to continue writing would be wasted. I hear a low, growling buzz in the background, as if the ground on which this house was built is being raised in preparation for lift-off. Perhaps the entire State of Arkansas is an alien environment placed here many generations ago by visitors from distant galaxies…and now those visitors are preparing to return to their stellar roots. And, lucky me, I just happen to be living in a house that is about to be transported to galaxies that exist in reciprocal dimensions, trillions and trillions of light years distant.
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Serious thoughts refuse to stick to the sides of my brain. Except when there’s pain involved; then, shit gets serious. But aside from that, nothing going on but cackling. I do not want to do ANYTHING today. Not radiation. Not eat food. Not read the news. Not be entertained. Just be unconscious. Asleep. Comfortably numb. Well, it’s time to find out just how long that can last. Off to bed again, to dream the impossible dream. To wax poetic in my slumbers. I’m tempted to take another painkiller; then another in six hours. Yes, that’s exactly what I’ll do. And to all, a good sleep! I wonder whether all this is due to brain bumps?
