Oh, still rough.

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Not as bad as last night, for now.  Not exactly ready to go play soccer or such, either.  Why it hurts so bad lately, I can't say.  Wet, cool, weather has moved in.  Maybe that makes things worse?  My mother said, for her, she knows when it is coming in for the pain she feels from it.  I've not had that problem, but then, I haven't had so many healing processes on mend at once.

I haven't broken a bone, as well, I don't think I have twisted legs are arms all that bad.  Maybe a really light sprain, from time to time.  Limping around, a bit, for months.  Whatever the case, this is miserable.  And hurts in so many places at once.  I can only imagine those folk who get ripped up really badly, tossed around even more, break this and that and the other bone.  This... is quite enough.  I'll admit that.

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I slept okay.  Dreaming of combat.  I had a submachine gun and a bolt long gun.  Initially the enemy was fairly... easy.  But they got better, or would that be worse.  For some reason, they didn't have firearms.  Mostly short range melee weapons, knives, fists, clubs.  And, rather than organized attacks, they would attack in gorilla tactics.  Initially fairly poorly, they couldn't hold an ambush well.  Then, they became very good, started using weather, the night, fog, and else.  And became very good at hitting from behind, both sides, and such.

They had seeming infinite numbers.  While we had all the guns and ammunition we could want or even use, even if we were foolish enough to spray and pray.  We didn't lose many, but every one was precious.  They lost battalions of men, and just... brought more in.

No, I didn't mind.  It... is what I was set to do, at that time, as with all of us.  And, we did it.  Got better, some died, on both sides.  Didn't hate.  Too much work, just... killed, and killed, and killed.  Our own little piece of hell, to some degree.  I prayed over some of those I killed, if there was time.  As with our own, if possible.  They had started calling me the ghost deacon, and let me... do my thing.  Even bringing me their dead, sometimes.  Well, rough translation?  They started to think I was bullet proof while praying, and some odd things suggested that might have been true, a time or two.

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This morning is slightly rough.  The wrist wounds are almost cured.  As with the smaller of the wounds on my knee.  A few more days and they should be... clean?  Maybe.  At first, I didn't think the healing was all that fast.  But, really, it's... probably three to five times faster than even I expected.  The knee cut is on a major bruise, that it is healing at all sort of surprises me.  And I would say it is a quarter through healing, but will go faster as that bruise eases.  And compression is helping with that.

The bruise on my hip is getting smaller.  Compression helps that, too.  But that will... take a while as well.  It is probably only a quarter to a fifth down.  But, that's... better than I expected.  With bruises that big, they talk about it taking a year for complete recovery.  So a fifth in a month?  I can... live with that.  Just... hoping for faster, sooner.  We'll see.

Not bad for an old dead guy, so far out of various medical number trims that death should be imminent.  Especially while I am losing so much weight and/or fat that I'm having neuropathy in my various skin and fat layers remaining.  Ugh.  That doesn't help things feel good, either.

I'll keep at it.  I don't think I'll lose much weight, further, until healing is much closer at hand.  My body is holding onto fat, but thankfully not gaining more.  It needs it, it thinks, in case I can't eat well.  Which... I can't.  Fair enough.  But, as mentioned, at least it isn't adding gobs more on.

Later.