I made it to another birthday! And this year was actually the first time that was truly in doubt.
I know you can get hit by a bus at any time, but the towns I’ve been living in are too small for public transportation so I’ve been effectively dodging that bullet. The end of the world didn’t come when Harold Camping said it would (either time) and the asteroids that were supposed to hit us apparently missed.
So here I am for another year. A few organs shy of a full load, but still mostly functional. And still on my own two feet, though The Scooter Store would be happy to get me a Rascal and bill Medicare without me so much as lifting an arthritic finger.
Things are actually going quite well. In spite of my horror at looking like a steampunk elephant every night (not to mention having morning breath that would make Satan blanch), the breathing machine seems to be working. I’m actually getting more energy back and feeling a bit more like mySELF.
And here are the new equations of my life:
More energy + innate lack of focus = dozens of thrilling new projects
Desire to do a million things + refined sense of mortality = increased impatience with just about everything
More energy + innate lack of focus + desire to do a million things + refined sense of mortality = getting so frustrated at my inability to finish anything that I’m forced to play Bejeweled for hours at a time just to regain my equilibrium.
Because that makes sense.