Until the last syllable of recorded time

Today is just another one of those days, days in May. The month that will never end.

Hecate is sick, and I've felt better myself. Quite suddenly I've lost my appetite. Every time I think of food there's a follow-up thought of "eeew."

I really should get on the phone and take care of a couple of the calls I need to make: one to the retinologist because I have a new blood clot in one of my eyes abd that may mean another laser surgery. Another to an old homeowners's insurance carrier about a claim I never finished filing.

Of course, we have to be at the vet by 3:00. You just don't wait around when your 14-year-old cat goes out of sorts.

You know, I started out the day with something to say, something interesting or at least entertaining, and then I was thinking about how I never finished the letter to my donor's family, because I kept being so damned sick. I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

So I was wondering how long I'll be wairing this time, until things line up right and there's another kidney for me. I'm discouraged enough at this point that I've stopped looking for a living donor, but I should finish that letter and send it off lest I appear ungrateful for my initial miracle.

Even though it didn't fully work out, I mean. I suppose it's possible that the act of closing out that experience would get me back to looking.

There's always a chance. Isn't there?

before - after