It is 9:29 AM Tuesday morning in the death flow. It is partly sunny this morning, but it is predicted to rain through this coming week.
I got up this morning around 6 o'clock AM. When I got up this morning I found Carol coughing and reading her Bible. I got myself a cup of coffee and sat in the dining room going in and out of consciousness. It always amazes me how ones Past can immediately seem real. This morning as I sat struggling to wake up I kept remembering events in my life that took place 45 years ago. It seems we can never escape our Past.
After I woke up somewhat I messed with our main computer and then ate some cereal for breakfast. After breakfast I wrote in my paper diary and then sat in the living room going in and out of consciousness. Now I am sitting here writing down some words in my online diaries.
I have no plans for the day ahead of me. Today I feel like a ton of cow dung. My left arm is still sore. Carol thinks I should go get my left arm looked at by a doctor, but I hate going to the doctor's. Both Carol and Emily are nurses and they have told me as long as there is no numbness in my fingers I should be OK. But the pain does not got away and I have a difficult time lifting anything with my left hand and arm. I do not know what to do, but pray for healing.
I have not read anything this morning because I have felt sick wasted full of dread. One thing I have been thinking about lately is this habit I have developed over my lifetime of doing what I feel like doing and not forcing myself to do stuff. What I mean is that it could be my sinful flesh likes doing little as possible, whereas maybe one should live in such away that ones does what is contrary to the flesh. Maybe our corrupt nature enjoys being inactive. Maybe we should live in such way that we always do what is difficult or just plain hard self-denying work. Is it spiritually good to sit on my ass all the time and daydream? Have I become in my old age just a big blob?
Last night I watched television and read from a book titled, 'Personal History' A Memoir by Katharine Graham.
Well not much else to write so I will close to feel sick to my being.