Such days and dreams.

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Resisting death is no mean feat.  I've done in for a very long time.  I have, sort of, grown into the position.  You may not believe, my doctors don't simply believe, they know.  What they don't do is understand.  I won't claim to understand myself.  I just know, at times, remaining alive is an act of vicious will.  It isn't quite, just a physical, spiritual, intellectual, or soul-inspired effort.  It is sometimes one among them, or several of them, and sometimes it is all of those and more.

I have gotten good enough at it that, at my peak, I don't notice.  And, with medicine, I think I am beyond the peaks I could know for the first twenty five years.  I think, now, there are times when I am not struggling, even below the radar.  A new and pleasant thing, mind you.  Still, sometimes, I... have to work, struggle.  It isn't so much death that is the problem, now.  I struggle, more, for function.

Last night, if only in the dream, I struggled with death.  The risk, at first, wasn't so much simple failure.  It was losing stamina over time.  I wasn't sure at first.  Then, finally, I found a balance point, as when carrying a heavy load for a long distance, and finally finding the most efficient manner of distributing and traveling with the weight.  After that, I was able to spend the rest of the night/dream in easy enough testing.  It was a test, but I passed with ease... after that initial imbalance and more difficult struggle.  The dream was... real enough.  Even so, I wake well and refreshed.  Such is my nature, and why I yet am, and why I baffle doctors.

I will be continuing to attempt various efforts.  Laundry?  Dishes?  A shower?  Maybe some cooking?  Dunno.  I'll try to do something.  I'll keep trying until that pops.  I am simply soul-weary from dealing with the various bureaucratic attacks and troubles from those.  The dream, perhaps, is my being attempting to reset and begin anew.  Good morning, and day.

Later.