Today has been clear and warm, as I understand it. Outside, that is. Inside, I have remained hidden from the bright sun and have protected myself from the cool indoor temperatures by nestling beneath sheets and a moderately light comforter. Just another day inside that’s utterly at odds with the world outside my windows. Within the last day or so, I’ve ventured outside only a little—enough to wreck my sinuses, cause my eyes to become red and puffy, and introduce enough pollen into my lungs to put me in danger of choking to death. These experiences prompted me to search for the “best” locations for weather in the USA—as if I had the wherewithal to relocate to one of more of those “ideal” spots. Most of them are, as I expected, expensive in the extreme. And they are far more crowded than I would like. And various other of their attributes argue against considering them with any degree of seriousness. I just want comfortable temperatures, minimal issues with allergies/seasonal agony, and a social/political environment conducive to human decency. But I’m afraid that is too much to ask.


I stayed home today from a memorial service at church, thanks in large part to my allergies and related discomforts. Had I stepped outdoors, I am afraid I might have succumbed to deadly yellow pollen. I suppose my chemotherapy drugs and related “stuff” has made me especially susceptible to seasonal attacks on my body. That’s what I’ve read…and been told. Chemo makes pollen and such matter particularly capable of wrecking many aspects of my life. Ach! Damn it. Not that damning anything is going to change the world.


It’s almost 4:30 in the afternoon, a good eleven hours since I woke this morning. In the intervening hours, I have slept quite a lot. And my eyes have grown massively red; they feel like I have been dipping my wet fingers in ground jalapeños and then rubbing my eyes. That may be slightly better than ground glass and ground Carolina Reapers, but only by a tiny smidgen. I am breathing pure oxygen from a machine; delivered by tubes to my nose. I cannot tell that it’s making any difference. There is no point in trying, again, to write this afternoon. The output is dull and irrelevant. I have no interests, anyway. I wonder when my oncologist will have another CT scan and/or PET scan performed, enabling her to tell me what, if any, progress has been made? Between now and then, I would greatly appreciate sleep, enforced by sleeping pills and other devices to keep me from consciousness. Blah. I am not hungry, I am not thirsty, I am not ready to embrace the world. Just a long nap.

About John Swinburn

"Love not what you are but what you may become."― Miguel de Cervantes
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

I wish you would tell me what you think about this post...

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.