☯ By The Sa-me Token

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The sun has finally moved itself around to where it is shining on my nakid old body right now through the doorway out to my second-floor deck. In other words, my skin is making vitamin D while I'm sitting here typing my blog. I've already taken a 3000 mg tablet of vitamin D, and now I'm getting it straight from the source. I've taken maybe ten other supplements and prescribed drug in addition.

I've stopped taking two other prescription drugs I felt were hurting me without helping me. I told my rheumatologist at the VA Hospital, and he was not a happy camper. I've refrained from telling him that if I wanted a friend I'd buy a dog. I insist on him remaining a stranger. Not taking the drugs he uses to experiment on me with is a sure route to success in this regard.

However, I am taking one of his prescribed drugs. I know that it helps me without too terrible side-effects, because I stopped taking it for a while to take the last poison he assigned me, and when I started taking it again it helped. I had a weird node on my wrist that disappeared when I began taking hydroxychloroquine.

Mo' bettah, I discovered yesterday that I was only taking one pill of hydroxychloroquine a day when I'm supposed to be taking two. I didn't write that not taking these prescription drugs didn't result in pain. I'm concerned deeply by the pain that occupies my conscious mind constantly, although if I get excited by something that distracts me I am able to ignore the pain while I'm focused on what makes ti-me fly.

Briefly. In snatches. A moment or two now and then. The same activities that have made time fly for me all along. They still work even with RA toiling away at making my life more miserable physically. I've grown rather apathetic about the whole pain deal. I don't have to be emotionally involved, and so, for the most part, I just let it be. Nobody knows. Literally.

I studied acting formally for around four years in college. I've done some low-grade professional acting. By a huge majority I got good reviews rather that awful ones. I know exactly how to get inside this pain and put on a really believable display of morbidity.

But still, despite my formally trained talents for taking on the face value of another's conscious being, nobody knows. They can only know what they think they would be feeling, if they felt and acted like they think I do. Their ignorance (root: to ignore) is not personal. I am is as deprived of knowing their pain as they are mine, and by the sa-me token.

I am is perfectly aware that it's adding the "is" to I am. I am is gnows it's not the personality nor does it possess the reach to attach to subjective feelings of another. It doesn't gnow itself as an other. I am (in the metaphysical/spiritual sense) simply... is. It is me. How many do you know?
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