I would not stop for death

I went to see my reiki healer today. I lie there as he directs me through the meditation process to put me in deep visualization and I can see the thing that would like to kill me. Like some evil alien child deep inside me, like Sigourney Weaver.

I have dreams during reiki, I shouldn't but I do. They give me a fever that the tylenol my mother gives as I lie in bed does not touch. I dream of my husband. He is dead, long dead, almost 13 years now. I would not stop for death, so death kindly stopped for me. I will fight it.

My mom and dad want to talk about it all the time. I can hear them whisper around the house and it makes me nervous. I want tell them to shut up about it, but I know it will upset them.

I broke up with the old goat, my Gaelyn. I can't have him nurse maiding me. He needs a whole person to live his very busy lifestyle with him. I am relieved on a lot of levels, but I do miss him. I'm selfish, I know, but I want to be alone through this, like an animal who is sick and wants nothing more than to crawl under the porch and sleep and maybe get well. Death, be not proud.

I have no doubt that I will live through this. I have willed it to be so, but I must fight the battle. My dad has scored me a half dozen joints and is keeping them for me for when I start chemo and radiation. The oncologist, using the vaguest terms suggested it since it is illegal. Funny thing is, he tells me I should give up cigarettes. Hell, doc, it can't hurt me now and might be the lone thing that will keep me from putting my hands around your neck and strangling you.

At night I lie in my bed in the dark. When was the last time I slept in the absolute dark? When I was married? Yes, I think so. Now I crave the dark, like those southern vampires I wrote about earlier today. It's like my coffin and I am for the time being one of the undead.

I got up last night and slipped out of the house and into the yard and walked barefoot in the drought dry grass and looked up to the cloudless night sky, but I have too many lights in my neighborhood and I can't see many stars. I lit a cigarette and smoked it to the filter and wished there was something I could do other than be poisoned nearly to death by chemo and radiation. I asked about surgery but they want to shrink it first and put another one of those damned nuclear discs in me. I had radiation burns on my suture site. My neighbor's daughter couldn't come see me because she was pregnant. I couldn't even go to Walmart.

I listen to U2's song Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own. Bono wrote it about his dad's last dying days and his efforts to be with him til the end. I love him. Bono. He is a loud mouth and he reminds me of a mix of St Peter and St John the Baptist. I listened to his voice all day and fell asleep and dreamed of angels and they were singing with him. I wish he were here so he could sing to me personally, or stand guard or something. I just personally believe that the angels fight on his side.

I feel like that guy in the Godfather, the old consiglieri, who is dying and he asked Don Corleone to stand guard so that if the Angel of Death sees the Don there he might pass him by. Bono's no Don, but I know he has the most wonderful blue eyes. I would love to just look into those eyes just once.

Darvocettes are kicking in and I am rambling. That's okay. I don't have a lot of pain so I get a little dopey when I med myself. The doctors say that will change after a couple of doses of chemo. Oh joy.

I wonder if I will lose my hair. I didn't the last time. I mean, it's sort of bummer because I used to shave my head and now I finally have my hair growing into something verging on a hairstyle and now I might be baldy. When it rains.....