Lately time has really been at the forefront of my consciousness. I am living on borrowed time. I am trying to finish a novel in 30 days and I can't even be sure that I can actually work on it everyday. In the past seven days I have spent four and a half in bed. I am in end stage respiratory failure due to the progression of muscular dystrophy. I have made the decision to go into hospice. This means no ventilator for me and no trach. I feel like I have a list of things to do but I have no real time frame for completing them. I procrastinate like I will be here for years and perhaps I will be. However, there is a real chance that anything can happen at anytime.
I don't know who reads this blog. It is not even my main blog but I almost feel like I can open up here easier than on my
main blog. I am trying to push through and steal little pieces of energy. I am not talking on the phone as much because it steals too much energy. I don't go out as much. I hate to shop. I must be the only woman in America that hates to shop because it steals too much energy. Writing and painting they do not steal too much energy.
