THIS IS STUPID I KNOW

I  can't walk well.
I am scared to swallow the vitamins I take all day.
I am stuck at home because my bike is broken.
I haven't been outside in three days.
I have no TV.
I stagger too much to pick up after myself.

But...

I feel optimistic.
I feel like... if I do all the right things, I'll be okay.

(This is stupid. I know.
I know there is nothing out there to support this).

But.

I feel like, if I stay relaxed, if I stay creative, if I am sensitive to my body, if I don't panic, if I don't let others interfere with my sense of well being,  interfere with my enthusiasm and hope, I will have an opportunity, an opportunity that will revive me.

Last night, I slept twelve hours. In the late morning, I had my one cup of strong coffee and read the Times. I read an article about Jules Feifer's wife.  She has a new (one woman show) about surviving cancer.

I think... I guess... I wouldn't be able to perform a piece about my disease. It's too dire. No triumphant comeback here. My disease is ugly, not to be looked at. Too cold and glaring. I guess.

(I don't think about it, much. I don't have to distract myself about thinking about it because I have no interest or natural talent to understand it).

(Someone died today (on my "patients like me" website) of pneumonia. Never occurred to me that that would be the end. I mean, everyone dies of pneumonia. I guess that pneumonia is just waiting around  to finish off the job for all the lazy and undisciplined diseases,  like vultures after the body has been ripped apart).

In the article about the play about cancer, the playwright mentions C. Sheer as an inspiration, and (also)
E Handler.  Sheer I know quite well from a two year acting program. And Handler I've been in several readings with. Perhaps I should read their plays for inspiration, or just to copy them.