Sharp roots

It's been hard to lift my fingers to a keyboard, to put words into a sentence, or even just have a simple coherent thought. I have, for just a moment, found a short glimpse of myself. As I am waiting for my next treatment, which thankfully is the first of the final four, I find a million coherent thoughts running through my weakened mind and my fingers are shaking trying to keep on task here. I have not been able to run, but on most days have beeb able to take a short walk. This morning I decided to go for a brief run in the cold just to own my own existence again, even if for just a minute. I ran about 2 miles on sheer will, and a final mile on the deep, sharp roots of anger. I wasn't fast, but I was there. I made it home only to crawl to the stairs for a good cry against the spindles... and my breathe became mine again.

In haling,

Beth