It's crazy to think that not too long ago my future on this planet was in serious jeopardy. I guess that's not entirely accurate. I'd still be on the planet, just not hanging out and rocking my jam as usual. And if I was, then you should run. Fast. Because I'd be a zombie and your brains would for sure become my breakfast. For sure.
For those of you following along at home, I recently had one of those birthday thangz all the cool kids are getting into. They seem to be almost unavoidable these days. No matter where you look, people are always having birthdays. Some people have so many birthdays that you have to wonder just who they think they are. I once wrote that you should always be glad to have another birthday. That you shouldn't fret growing older, because every new day was a gift. I don't know from where, or from whom, but the gist was that you should appreciate the time that you have. Since I'm a regular human person like anyone else, my thought patterns and opinions wax and wane like a desert moon orbiting a lonely rock at the outskirts of the galaxy. I don't know exactly what I believe about birthdays anymore, or even about existence, or about appreciating the gift of tomorrow. Is it really a gift? Some people's tomorrows will be unquestioningly awful.
There are those in this life whose tomorrows are always filled with very sad things. Suffering, disappointment, hardships. Some people will never have a chance at a normal life -- they'll never have a shot at the best things this place has to offer. And, according to the credo to which you choose to adhere, it's entirely possible that they won't get another chance to try again. I'm not elevating my experiences to rival those of what could only be described as an earthly prison -- not at all. I have a great time, as a general rule. Because, if I'm not enjoying myself, then I strongly feel that I should move over and make space for someone else who will. I think I'm just suddenly unsure about how to take my ongoing survival.
I used to have plenty of questions related to surviving cancer. "Why me?" is a trusty standard. I used to have zillions of feelings and micro feelings relating as well. And then, after a while, it all kind of just stopped. And I was allowed to be normal again. Only I didn't know how. And to some extent, the normal I've chosen is someone I don't recognize when I really stop to look. I suppose the bottom line is; I don't know who I am anymore, or who I want to be. I don't know exactly what almost dying and suddenly having more birthdays has done to me. And I think I'd better figure it out if I want to justify the potential gift of being granted even more birthdays. I owe it to myself, and the people who are taking for granted that I'm always going to be here.
Photo credits: Top -- Cover art for Metastatic Memories, © 2014 Kevin Lankes and TheCatchMode
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