Back at work. Still healing--it's a little annoying having to change a dressing in a Men's Room at City Hall. I found one that offers some privacy, but it's in a high-traffic area, and there are frequent knocks at the door. There is also the question of sanitation--the last thing I need is an infection. The alternative, though, is to have the drainage soak through--which is, to say the least, messy.
I've been neglectful of keeping up my postings on my mirror blog (http://pretentionsanddelusions.blogspot.com/); given what happened to my JournalSpace account, that's poor housekeeping on my part. Must keep on top of that. Granted, I've only made two posts more on my LiveJournal than on Blogger, but little details can get lost, and sometimes they count more than their size would imply.
As to whether or not You-Know-Who was reading my blog, nothing more has come of that brief impression I had on Nov. 8th. In addition, she deleted her blog--whether that was due to what I had written, or out of boredom on her part I do not know. Given her genuine shock on discovering that I have cancer, I suspect that my earlier suspicion was in error, and that she never read what I wrote. It's a pity, because I enjoyed her infrequent posts, despite the naivety she sometimes displayed.
So it goes.
On the matter of the opposite sex, I have found myself stuck on a delima:
to date, or not to date--that is the question (my apologies to the Bard). Given that I have a potentially terminal disease (and, putting aside my intention to survive said disease), would it be right to begin a relationship with the intention of finding a mate? Even being up-front and honest about my condition (something that simple decency demands that I must do), do I have the right to subject anyone to the impact of my cancer? What kind of impact would it have on my hypothetical other, and do I have the right to subject them to that, or do I have a duty to refrain from that level of intimacy until such time as I can ensure that my illness would not cause pain to another--even if that refrain lasted until my demise?
Some of you may have heard one variation or another of the story:
The Tiger and the Strawberry
A man was walking across a field when he heard a rustling in the tall grass beside him, and turned to see the hungry eyes of a large tiger staring at him. The man began to run, fear giving him greater speed and stamina than he knew he possessed.
But always, just behind him, he could hear the easy breathing of the hungry tiger. Finally, the man stopped, not because his strength had failed but because he had come to the edge of a high cliff and could go no further. "I can let the tiger eat me, or take my life in my own hands and jump." The man turned and saw the tiger slowly walking toward him, licking its mouth in anticipation. Resolved to take his own life, the man stepped to the edge of the cliff and bent his legs to jump, when he suddenly noticed a thick vine growing out of the side of the cliff, several feet from the top.
Carefully, he let himself drop down the cliff face, catching hold of the vine as he slid past, and thanked God when it was strong enough to support his weight. Hanging now, the man looked up and saw the tiger's eyes peering over the edge of the cliff. It roared down at him, then began to pace back and forth along the top of the cliff. For the first time, the man looked at the vine that had saved his life. It was thick enough for him to wrap his legs around, resting his arms, and long enough that he might be able to let himself far enough down to jump safely to the ground below.
And the moment he had this thought was the same moment that he saw the second tiger, pacing back and forth at the foot of the cliff, licking its mouth, and looking hungrily up at him. Well, thought the man, if my strength and the strength of the vine are great enough, perhaps I can outwait the tigers. Surely, they'll go someplace else to eat when they're hungry enough. And the man prepared to settle in for a long wait.
His preparations halted quickly, however, when he heard a scurrying, scratching sound close to his own face. Glancing upwards, he saw two mice, one white and one black, emerge from a small hole in the cliff. They made their way swiftly to the base of the vine, and began to gnaw through it with their small sharp teeth. There was nothing else he could do, a tiger above, a tiger below, and the vine that kept him from their jaws about to break.
The man was closing his eyes to begin his prayers, when he noticed, a little to his right, a tiny patch of red color on the face of the cliff. He reached toward it precariously, pulled, and brought his hand back beneath his eyes. There, in his palm, was a luscious, red strawberry. The man swiftly pressed the strawberry between his lips, onto his tongue, and hanging between those still visible tigers, he enjoyed the finest , juiciest, sweetest meal of his life.
"Ah," he thought, as the vine began to give way, "what a wonderful strawberry." This is, I believe, a Buddhist story, and the moral would be: remember to value each and every moment of our lives and never lose sight. I think there's a considerable value to that viewpoint.
The problem is, my inner Stoic keeps me wondering if the man had the right to take the strawberry. It sounds ridiculous, but it's an idea I just cannot shake--perhaps that strawberry was not his to take. Imagine if a gourmet chef had happened upon that strawberry, and had used it to prepare a dish that brought delight to others--would that not be a better use for the strawberry than one last brief pleasure for a dying man? Or would it? When do the dying have a greater claim than the living, and vice-versa?
I don't want to spend the rest of my life lonely.
I don't want to hurt anyone with my death.
This is the shit that keeps me awake at night, and I think I can hear the tiger rustling in the tall, tall grass.
