Chemo's low tidings

Chemo has a way of making you feel like you're a giant sausage casing half-filled with water, half-filled with sand. When I stoop I feel I cant lease myself out as a bean-bag chair. It's a chemical spell. The fatigue presses you down as if you are descending into pressurized depths. This chemo chisels out as pain on ther hinge of where my jaw meets my skull, and throbs sharply. It's like someopne is stabbing me--I have to absorb the pain, swallowing it, diverting it once agains towards the tumor, and this effort does make the pain recede quicker.I'm not whining, this is my terrain. And all I can do is dust myself off, coughing, and whimpering as one of our cats looks at me confused ("Yeah, buddy, I'm hurting.")

I fight the sinking feeling, and move my arms--I have to perform tonight. I have to find that in me. It's not going to be easy. But I do know that when I'm performing I don't feel I have cancer. I can only hope those are soulful connections that somehow can overcome the malignancy that decided to use my body as a crash pad. Again, once again,I never thought I'd go through this again.

Oddly, feelt like listening to Bowie at the BBC and his live show at Santa Monica, and then maybe some floyd later. Some Janis, Todd Snider, Santana's new one (With some good stuff but excruciating lyrics!). You have to be your own shaman.