Cold salad and warm corn.

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Not... as filling as... well... about as filling as it sounds.  Not... just not much.  I can't really get to more.  Hungry, enough.  To eat.  Just not able to cook, and don't have anything to cook.  Thought about getting out, but realized my tags are... needing renewed.  Don't want to risk it, until I am going in for that.  Sure would like chicken, or... something.  Fried chicken would be nice, even.  Food, something more solid, real.  Ugh.

Still not feeling good though, either.  The painpills did their thing, for now.  It's not all pain, as the problem.  A very light feverishness, the symptoms of a minor headache even if the pain is mostly subdued, and mild gastro issues.  Plus hunger.  Hmm, there might... be another way.  A favor, asked.  Though... with benefits.  Fly?  I'll buy.  Will see.  Can ask, innit?

Hmm... sounds like it's a no-go?  Though... may be playing hard to get.  :p  I... hate flying, too, when the day is done.  And... for me, most days are done before they start.  I get it.  Will see.

I will admit, I... do ask much, of many.  Sometimes I offer things back, try to be grateful.  If too I am an asshole.  It's sort of what goes with being mostly dead.  When you hurt, often, all the time?  Often for sure... you... can... play a little mean, hard.  You have some bite to you.

Ask doctors who are working on people.  Even trying to save people, who are all messed up.  Sometimes they are a danger to those who are just trying to save them.  Imagine being dying for decades.  Trust me, it's... difficult to know who is trying to help, and keep them separated from those who are trying to kill you, in your mind.  Well, and while fighting death, everything in proximity can... fill the part of that enemy.  Strange, but true.  I... remember... confusing them for that one.  More so when they have to hurt you to help you.  Even a syringe feels like a weapon being used against you.  Pains can be amplified, it's... a strange place, right near death.  Even now, it's a strange place.  I don't think any can know it, for even those who die, it's just a short while in between.  Only some of us live there, if not on the absolute edge.  Closer than most.

But... right when life is slipping, slipping, and just about gone... everything is... different.  I remember.  I like living, or death, but not that messy moment.  Yes, I know.  I mostly live there.  But the process is suspended.  I'm not actively dying.  The three yard line?  One yard line?  Maybe even the half yard line.  But the ball isn't in play.  It's just sitting there, looking all beat to shit and gnarly.  Waiting for... the time.

I still suspect I have between twenty and forty years left, if... no on interferes.  It's just how it goes.  I only suspect so, because thirty years ago, when I realized I was dying, I also believed I had many years left.  Which... is why I tried so hard to commit suicide.  This is a brutal life.  Strange though, with God's graces, I can walk this bed of coals I call life, and enjoy it mostly.  Sometimes... it is difficult.  Sometimes I remember what normal life was like.  But, usually, I... live rather well, in spite of the horror, terror, pain.  I don't even scream, anymore, when the hurt shows bare teeth to my naked skin.  I may not enjoy, but I can... live through it.

No positive, but no negative.  Perhaps it is on the way?  Hmm... best get my wallet.

Ugh.  All good.  Later.