Handfuls of Delight, by Steve Jurvetson on Flickr, licensed under Creative Commons

I screwed it up, didn’t I? It was the ice cream what brought me low. I couldn’t leave well enough last night. Even though J was beyond exhausted, I begged him to fetch me an ice cream. From the fancy store. Dear man, he’s never said no to me when it matters. Ice cream matters.

I finished my ice cream at 9:15. Usually my immunotherapy drug comes at 10 pm. Except, having read and memorized the label, I know I must wait one hour before or TWO HOURS AFTER eating to take it. I have been good, and decided last night to be a little bad.

J was exhausted. He went to sleep uncharacteristically early, and I brushed my teeth and tried to find something to pass time in the living room. I tried Netflix, settled on two episodes of a Ricky Gervais vehicle I am sure no one has ever heard of, that takes place in an old age home. I tried finding us a new spring blanket for our bed. I concluded that ice cream either needs to happen right after dinner, or stay as a nice image in the mind.

It was me and the clock and the wait, last night. It was, despite the general lack of digestive woes, a reminder of last November, the nights that never ended, until they did. I never want to live another night like that again.

Today my 6 am waking became 5 am. It may be a little rough there. I’m meeting another friend for coffee. I wish I hadn’t banished caffeine from my life. But the day brings its energy, and I want to do some balcony garden planning today, and BRING IT ON, SPRING. I’m thinking growing and tending some flowers should be the best revenge against death, drug regimens, devastation.

(It’s just that J may have to do all the planting & watering for me.)

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