Another stormy day. I cycled for about two hours, leaning into the wind, pushing and forcing myself to be fit and healthy, my hands and face stinging with the cold air. Now of course I am exhausted, my arms and legs like lead.
When I met my immunologist last Friday she would not hear my polite pleas of lowering or maybe - please - try to go without one or even two of the cocktail ingredients. She explained it all very nicely but still. There are days when I really really want to be the fool who believes it's all in my head. After all that time, yes.
There is always the
option risk to close in on myself, like a soft animal withdrawing into a small, dark tunnel. Nursing my fears, my losses, my ill health. Well, it's November, what do you expect. My sister has been going on about it for weeks, with every hour less of daylight she prepares herself for mental breakdown. But what if it doesn't happen this winter, I want to ask her. What if everything will be fine for a change? Maybe we are completely sane!
Someone mentioned last week, as a sort of by the way thing, that death is really easy, that he is not afraid of it at all because people all over the world manage it. Sick and healthy, stupid and clever, young and old, rich and poor, and so on. And for a split second I had this reassuring sensation that maybe even I will eventually achieve some form of calm and age appropriate insights.
Whatever. But not yet.