Dark Musings on Hank

(You have been warned - do not go past this line if you don't want to know)

People tell me all the time "You look so good!" Superficially, they're right - I'm thinner than I've been in 20 years, I'm starting to regain some mobility, my hair has been getting more beauty salon time than... well, ever. 

But on the inside, I can picture this malignant mass, like a beautiful red apple with a worm buried inside.  I'm slowly crumbling inward, maintaining a serene shell, but rotting from the inside out. 

I've been running a fever most nights - nothing serious, just somewhere between 99.4 and 99.9, but my normal body temperature used to be somewhere around 97 degrees.  I tire so easily - after four hours I'm wilting, by 8 hours I need to lay down.  I can feel my capability slipping away - I forget things (managed to blow a simple suspense two weeks in a row), I forget words, I have to rely on notes more than I ever have.  But mostly, it's emotional.  I'm snappy, I'm irrational, I don't have any patience. 

I don't know how people manage to get through bucket lists with holidays  abroad or skydiving or elaborate "bat-kid" scenarios.  But then again, I've never really been all that into physical achievements.  My bucket list would be more along the lines of make a blog that people actively subscribe to and enjoy, or do an open-night stand-up comedy set that brought the house to hysterical laughter.  Since progeny are out of the question, I want to live on with my words.  That's a form of immortality, isn't it?