Two and a half months have passed since the surgery to remove the growth on my shoulder. In all that time, it really hasn't stopped hurting, though the skin has healed...for the most part. It burns and stings. I have taken to wearing a foam bandaid because it affords some relief, but I fear I am developing an allergy to latex from the reactions I have to the bandaid. When I move my shoulder a certain way, it feels as if something has ripped, again and again. When the strap of my upper undergarment presses upon the incision, it is difficult to control my tongue.

I drove 142 miles for work today. Going was difficult, returning was excruciating. How will I be on a plane for 11 hours for our trip to Italy?

We walked around one of our properties for seemingly hours, though in reality it was under one. Breathing became difficult. I struggled to keep up, though I did managed to snap a few solid pictures for future marketing. I asked for an arm at one point, which a woman gave me, but she dropped it far sooner than was comfortable for me. I whispered to my boss that I was seeing stars. She didn't seem to care.

But, perhaps, if she were standing before me now, she would tell me, in that oh so blunt way, that it was not hers to care. It should have been mine. I should have turned back when I realized we would be walking so much.

In my defense, I could not have retraced my steps had I wished to do so, so confused was I. So I did the only thing I could...put one step in front of another...and kept snapping those pictures.

I wonder, had I keeled over, would anyone have really cared. But then, again, why should I care whether or not they do? I only work with them. We have no ties between us.

I am tired. And the front lingering somewhere around here is making my arthritis well known to me. I am tired. And I cannot find a restful position to give into sleep.

I would give most anything to have one day where I felt physically well...

And yet...and yet...I keep thinking about that man, trapped in the body of a boy for nearly 36 years because his skin repeatedly fell off, oozed with infection, and left him in chronic pain.

The last time I checked, my skin is firmly attached to my body.

Hmm...I am thankful for satiating quench raspberry lemonade Gatorade...for the utter comfort of a fresh pair of contacts...for the love of my best friend...the grace of my savior...the joy of Kashi, Madison, and Fancy...for only seven more business days before we escape to Italy.