As I lay here, not much I can do but think. Watch television, read, sleep and dream.
It's an odd time. I have a couple weeks to ready for my surgery. I alternate between terrified and hopeful. My anxiety is such that I must manage it. I can't get lost in my head. I might sink into it. Into that deep abyss. No thank you.
I watched my dog Frodo go outside this morning. He wants to run so badly. His back is bad, his leg gives out. Yet, he still wants to trot
Like me, he's resisting his body failing.
Failure is not always a bad thing. At times, failing, or something failing, can give one perspective. Maybe I have too much perspective right now.
It's as I'm looking down at the world of my life and seeing it all clearly for the first time. I'm a memoirist so part of this melancholy gaze of mine might be connected to recently finishing my 15 plus year book YA memoir project that's coming out in January (we pushed the release date so I can promote it healthy).
The good news, because you know I'm always about a silver lining, is that my husband and I are in the throes of a honeymoon period. It's like we're both seeing each truly as we saw each other so so long ago. We have always had a great relationship, one based on love, friendship and trust. And music of course.
But this new vigor is different. I looked at his face the other night as we readied for bed and was so in love that it hurt my heart to think of one of us leaving this earth.
But then I thought. Stop. We have this, only this now, this present moment, so I held his hand as I fell asleep.