Cancer Helps Me Do Nothing

photo by paris cullen

It seems that when I don't have to get out of bed, I don't. I fully plan to, and know that it is the right thing, but I don't. My bed is like an anti-siren that keeps me from traveling...

I have lots of things to do, just nothing that has to be done right now.

You wouldn't think that someone lying in bed all morning would have issues with it. But this morning I noticed around the edges thoughts like, Oh, does this mean I'm depressed? How can I live  without caffeine? And I thought about the things I ought to do. Meditate, figure out solitary retreat, walk or find a yoga class, make this appointment or that one, figure this or that thing out. Fact is, I always feel like I should be doing something, unless it's Sunday morning.

And as long as I am reveling in self disclosure I may as well add that there is also a tinge of fear, that the henchmen of the protestant work ethic will swoop down and serve me a cup of good coffee.

If I'm not going to get up, why not just lie in bed, unified?

I decided not to worry. I lay in bed until noon, thinking about stuff...

For example, that around four days ago taking a shit stopped involving pain.

I finished reading The Final Solution by Michael Chabon and Mennonite in a Little Black Dress by Rhoda Janzen.

I may stay up at the SFBC land for the last two weeks of April. In spite of pondering Mexico and Hawaii, I may end up in an eco hut on the northern coast of Oregon after that. I don't know if I have the wherewithal to set up anything more elaborate. Plus, I have a car.

I am not in a hurry. I have no ambition. I have no bucket list. I move slower than I used to.

I thought about how strange it is to have people worry about you and not want to bother you. It's strange influencing distant friends and acquaintances by virtue of one's disease. The me and the you of me having cancer is not to be sniffed at. There's a lot more to this, but alas, I am somehow ready to get out of bed.

I leave you with a few words from Yoda: