Last night I dreamed that I turned off all the stoves in New York. I extinguished every single pilot light because I thought they were too dangerous, that they were too hot and would start a fire. I convinced a group of people to help, that this would be a good thing. Once it was over, though, I realized how selfish I had been and how the city did need fire to light their stoves. And then the process of relighting had to begin and it seemed so overwhelming. Woke up having a hot flash.
I’m feeling tired but normalish today. Went to the dentist, who I adore and he had a rose quartz orb in the office, which I took to be a good sign. He told me this morning he looked up in the snowy trees and saw a crow sitting there, enjoying the day, when a hawk swooped out of nowhere, hit the crow “like a train” and had him for breakfast. “It’s going to be one of those days,” Dr. B said he thought to himself. “That’s just not a good omen.”
No hawks, so far. In fact, clear skies. I’m doing my best to shake the sense that something is looming, though. That the hawk could take me out again. But I’m working. Researching, preparing to write something better.
It will be time to celebrate soon. The end of this chapter. But it’s not over yet, though I think we all want it to be. Only five days out of chemo. Still hard to swallow, my fingers are numb, I’m hot flashing like a 50-year-old, my knees give out occasionally, nausea sometimes, tired. Feel the need to keep saying those things. Because people keep saying how great I look. And then I feel I should be up to speed, getting things done, fulfilling my dharma. I dunno. Pray for no more hawks with me. Thank you. I am grateful. Just greedy, too. For perfect, for healthy, for guarantees.
Love.
