Workout Log 17 Nov 2012: hope?

Curiouser and Curiouser: One of the side benefits of this adversity is that I look at things with a fresh eye as I did when I first read Alice in Wonderland and today’s phenomena began with a couple quiet Whoppers let me tell ya.

Visible “tumours” are but as rumors and frightening they may be:
But as phenomena they are no more real than the waves of the devastated sea:
For their roots, Toots, you cannot see
You never know my darling dear what currents underflow this the ilka me!!

So I wake up, right, and the tumor (actually, not “the” tumor, just happens to be the only mass external to my body caused by lymph swelling: don’t ask a Doc at a party to examine “your” tumor now that there are PET scans, etc.).

The tumor IF we may use existential language at all, as if it is a thing in itself with phenomena and noumena, which it may have at least in terms of the emotional wallop it’s given me has reverted to a previous state.

But we must at this point remember Spinoza’s ontology; He grew up in marshland light and shadow and “man” had not quite defined the boundary between the sea and land.

As a quondam computer scientist I think in terms of “reified” discrete states with strong boundaries. Well, this morning the Tumour has sort of “crawled” back up my shoulder and adopted the wider, flatter and less painful (and slightly softer) shape it had in April. Rather like the Giger-inspired spacecraft in Independence Day.

OK, so far as it goes. Once again, you can infer nothing from the surface of the body any more than the surfacing of dead men at sea means a battle. Perhaps this next is the story. I dunno.

I mean, this is absurd, it’s William Blake’s poison tree which we water with our fears. A swelling can be nothing more than…a tsunami, or far less. I made a big deal of this…properly enough but without knowledge! I did do something but the tumor is but a symbol, an heraldic device.

But then this morning something else happened which is not suitable for disclosure at this time, a sort of distant, what, promise, cry, whatever that presaged Hope of a sort I hope.

There it is, then, as the Emperor says. I proceeded to move around my flat with great difficulty owing to continued pain now from the clotting but did accomplish a 30 minute workout first thing: weight training seated to The Thin Red Line, etc., and conducting the last movement of Beethoven’s Third Symphony. Ve allowed zee maestro to seet down during performance and gave him new chop-stick. Remember, no hit your sister with this, Maestro.

Seriously this is a change or a presage of same. But today I shall stay in and relax and at most receive guests as if I were the Emperor.

And indeed I did, albeit in primitive conditions me sitting in my chair a rubber throne. Need a candelabra burning, dripping wax and a sleepy fool and mad man. But I paid court to them.

It’s time for me to divert myself somewhere else. Because this apparent “shrinkage” is nothing of the kind. It is, God be thanked, a consequence of the injection I had the day before yesterday to reduce androgen imbalance: the cancer is calming down somewhat. It won’t last forever but gives me time. There are other things going on, some of them bad including the blood clot which i.e. is another serious matter. So it’s “take it easy” all the way to morning.

Listen!

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