Yeah, But It's Not Really Me

It's getting just a bit easier to blog using the phone. Either I'm getting smarter or the phone's decided to stoop to my level.

Life, however, is not easier...these tumours hurt, and there's a new one of the chest-wall variety. So much for the summer beach bod.

And that doesn't include the tennis-ball sized lump in my navel. Loose shirts, now.

And yet...

Some, looking at me, say it's time

to lean into a morphine haze,

embrace a gentle and sublime

way to pass these pain-wracked days.

I might partake of smooth-jazz tunes,

doze through a DVD,

but suggesting this assumes

that I'm no longer me.

For good or ill, I'm bred to fight

and in my life stand taller

when on the other side of night,

for me, there lies Valhalla,

where, as holder of the secret knows,

the fight goes on, and strong mead flows.

In the absence of music (Blogger won't let me link a video on my phone), here are a couple of things pictures of Sylvia, my blog's public face, on an ice-cream run.