Sympathy, in the face of indifference, is a squandered emotion. Indifference redefines sympathy, calling it a weakness; a flawed emotional state deserving only disdain and mockery. Emotions can be fragile states that, in the presence of pressure and contempt, sometimes shatter like brittle glass or harden like steel. But when strengthened by compassion and resolve, sympathy and its many generous siblings shred indifference into soft, restorative fibers of tenderness.
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Venom is the distillate of hatred; the deadly product left behind when kindness evaporates, replaced by barbarous animosity. Hostility comprises the requisite nutrients to sustain hatred, enabling it to intensify and pair with bitter loathing and unspeakable cruelty.
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I’m into this afternoon’s second cone of incense; this one came in a box that claims it will create a cinnamon aroma when it burns. The first one today was a repeat of a recent burning: called Full Moon, I cannot identify the aroma, other than to say it seems especially appealing this afternoon.
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Today’s visit to the oncology clinic was limited to an infusion of IV saline solution. After last night, (when I experienced instant-onset nausea followed by voluminous vomiting), I think the fluids today might have been, coincidentally, exactly what I needed. Last night’s experience was, by far, the worst case of vomiting I have ever experienced. Until last night, nausea was accompanied only by dry heaves. None of the nurses seemed concerned about last night’s experience, so I will not worry about it, either. At least for now.
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Yesterday’s 72nd birthday represented a restrained celebration of my unexpected survival. Many years ago, when I was 20 to 25 years old, or thereabouts, I concluded that my life probably would not last beyond 60 years. I had no premonition, nor any specific reason I can recall, that prompted that prediction. I did not think it would be “death by suicide” or “death by brain cancer” or “death by automobile accident.” It was simply an expectation that my life would end for some unknown reason at a relatively young age in modern terms, the legitimacy of which I did not question. A period several years earlier, during which I often thought of resolving my years-long and deeply hidden emotional maelstrom by way of suicide, might conceivably have contributed to that forecast, but memories of that mental turmoil are foggy, at best, so I cannot make any attribution with certainty. And there would be no point, anyway. After all, the anticipated termination of an unfinished life had failed to materialize a dozen years earlier. But thinking about a time when I thought I would be mentally prepared for every cell in my body to stop working jolted me into being grateful I did nothing to bring that experience about. Morbid thoughts can make a mess of one’s emotional stability; such ideas contribute to anxiety and otherwise cause cracks to spread like spider webs in one’s confidence.
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I received a text last night that was, without question, the most heart-warming, moving, powerful messages I have received in a very long time…maybe forever. It came as a completely unexpected expression of appreciation. Ever since I received it, I have been thinking about how best to acknowledge it and how to express my gratitude to the sender for the sentiments expressed. The message, arriving on my birthday, now holds a place in my heart as among the most meaningful and touching I have ever received. After receiving it, I realized my birthday was, in fact, very happy.
Happy Birthday!