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Noble, Nobel, Let’s Call The Whole Thing Off

‘Tis the season already.  I wanted so much to do something during this year’s NaNoWriMo and once again, I am falling substantially short.  I haven’t written much lately in any venue – including this one – for a number of reasons.  Depression, frustration and health issues are cooperatively kicking my butt in a big way.  I am facing yet more surgery and radiation therapy and am fully well aware that it doesn’t guarantee the problem will be solved (or even helped for any prolonged period.)  I could apply for and probably receive disability, but that wouldn’t pay the bills.  Ergo it’s not possible right now, regardless of my body’s determination to undermine me every way it can.

I have been trying to write fiction while my brain’s on a non-fiction bent.  I started a nice creepy murder mystery, got through a few hundred words, and promptly lost the will to write.  So I started reading, which promptly put me to sleep for several hours.

I’m on day 3 of a 4-day weekend and have written precisely nothing.  Yesterday was a day of physical recovery.  Friday we spent several hours out and about simply to BE out of the house.  I hoped that being out in beautiful weather would help alleviate the self-absorbed depressive element.  Unfortunately my body kicked me in the teeth as a result.  Pain and swelling and its ilk take a really nasty toll.  I’ve slept for most of the past 36 hours and while I’m hurting less, I’m still hurting.

No, this isn’t going to be a full-fledged poor-me bitchfest.  I am fighting my way through the next couple of months and know it will get better.  I’ve got the walker, thank God, so the next really awful spell at least should be a little easier to navigate.  And I am already planning to bite the bullet and get a motorized chair of some kind.  The walk to and from my desk at work is ridiculous at best.  When you’re mobility challenged it’s nearly impossible.  I timed myself; when I am on the walker (which is faster than without the walker on a bad day) it is literally a seven-minute walk to go to the nearest bathroom.  Calculate that into a fifteen-minute break and tell me what you get.

And this stupid stuff basically hit without warning.  After nearly a year of being able to walk just fine, in a matter of something like 24 hours I was slammed with a knee the size of a watermelon.

But if Stephen Hawking can win Nobel prizes and is paraplegic and incapable of speaking on his own or simply caring for himself, I can do whatever needs to be done.  I do have to have wheels.  But that will happen too.

The task this weekend was to win the lottery.  The figure of $150 million’s been stuck in my brain for a while, which was the number du jour for the Powerball drawing.  I rarely buy lottery tickets but this week bought two. Yeah, I know about odds.  I know the lottery is affectionately known as the tax on stupid people.  On the other hand, people do actually win the thing and the one sure way NOT to win is not to play.  So I bought two tickets.  Haven’t checked them yet.  I’m a believer in fate – if it’s my fate I’ve won and will be taking early retirement.

Maybe I’ll write my way to the Nobel prize for literature yet.  I’m a lot more concerned right now about simply staying alive – literally and figuratively.

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