Across the Universe

 Entry 1     8:42 a.m. 

I am in my office. Many people around, all from my team, waiting for the staff meeting to start. I am excited to gtfo of here.  The commute took 45 minutes--I can do it in 10 on a Sunday.  I don't miss coming to the office. I am glad to see other human beings that I work with, IRL, however. 

I showered, shaved and brushed my hair this morning, a chore I do less frequently at home since the advent of COVID-19 work from home mandates. I am surprised I could tame the wild shock of hair on my head given that the last time it was cut the leaves had not even started to change color, nor the night become so much longer that it was noticeable. 

I am filled with a sense of dread today for what is coming. I looked at the horizon, filled with Seattle skyscrapers as I was driving in, and was struck by the indifference of the universe.

Dansul Mortii, Guy Marchand, 1485.

I think having our own danse macabre in the form of this cancer, does bring a certain clarity and helps shed any pretense we don't know what lies ahead for each of us. I fill this journal with half executed thoughts, lets work through this one. I looked at the horizon, filled in with new structures paid for by clicks. The internet itself demonstrates that meaning is not something that attaches to anything, and nothing means anything unless meaning is attached to it. And how is meaning attached? Who knows. What I do know is it is arbitrary and often a load of complete bullshit.  We create meaning. We generate it through our interactions, mutual understandings, through the detritus of generation after generation, they too all in their graves, they too less than perfect. In the West, the predilection for genocide cannot be seriously contested. From the time Columbus sailed the ocean blue, the West murdered, killed, extinguished, destroyed, decultured, enslaved, robbed, tortured, raped, lied to and abhorred anything that wasn't Western.  The West defined the orient and the occidental. One being foreign and inferior, the other domestic and blessed by God. While other civilizations have Gods, and many may demand allegiance to their faith, it is the peculiar lot of Christians to covert people over by way of the barrel of a gun. Ultimately, they are nihilists, these proselytizers, whether they realize it or admit it.  Shit, we all are. It's the little worm eating at all our brains.  The indifference of the fucking universe. The implacable, utter, complete and irrefutable indifference.

Jenny, sobbing on the couch last night, repeatedly saying, "I don't want to die," when she could gather herself together enough to speak, was comforted by Leiney.  Youth.  Leiney said, "We are all strong. We will make it ok when you are gone.  I love you, Mom."  I don't know whether to simply be proud of her, or to curse the earth for putting us here in the first place, or both. Jenny knows it's coming now. I'd say there is no room left for denial, but we are human, and our ability to lie to ourselves is infinite.  

I will miss the meeting this morning with pain management, it is in 10 minutes, at 9:00.  They will be discussing the celiac plexus block procedure-it will deaden her nerves and stop her pain. Jenny said to me this morning, "I don't really have any pain." I told her that isn't true at all and reminded her that she has pain daily and that her pain has increased over time.  [Jenny just called.  There was a software glitch in the appointment scheduling, and she may not meet with them at all today.]

Entry 2     1:10 p.m.

I am at home, in the office. Jenny can't walk up the stairs,15 or so, without being winded. She weighs 146.4 lbs.

Buddy always cheers us up.

This is a nightmare. Will we make it through Christmas? I believe and hope we can.  But she is turning. Hard. Today, she was planning on driving Leiney back to Western. She was going to bring a friend along. She can't possibly or safely do that. So, she let Leiney drive herself back. Leiney is taking her pride and joy, the Civic Xi, and Jenny is fine with it, as am I. Leiney is through the moon, loving the relaxation Jenny has embraced with regard to Leiney using her car in the last week.

Entry 3     2:29 p.m.

Jenny was out of breath after walking up the stairs. It sounded like she had just run a mile. Chris, Jenny's sister, who was here, told Jenny she isn't allowed to drive anymore. Jenny is listening. I am relieved. Also, Jenny is potentially exhibiting a  key sign of liver failure. I am dreading the scan Thursday. I can't focus. 

Entry 4

I picked up Jenny's Xanax today. She will sleep well tonight. I will be taking her for the outpatient procedure-the celiac plexus block--next Thursday, btw.

Abby and I went to Home Depot and picked up an outdoor decoration. It's the replica of an old wood-paneled station wagon carrying a tree. I have been spending 💰 like a drunken sailor who is on shore leave for the first time in 17 months.