It's Wednesday. That's what the calender tells me. That's what everyone else tells me. It could be any day for all I can tell. What's the big deal. I wake up. I eat breakfast. I do the normal routines. I don't care what day it is. That's not to say I'm getting appathetic. No, not so. I care very much for what's going on around me, and I very much want to be a part of it for a very long time. I love life. I love the internet. I love my books. I love my friends (give yourself a pat on the back and some warm fuzzies). Life is good. God is kind to me. But with nothing to distinguish the days, they all run into each other.
I was watching a movie, The Hiding Place. I recommend it. It's very good and it might make you think. The main character Corrie is in prison during the Nazi invasion of Holland, and she keeps track of the days by marking on the walls. She notes important occasions: moving from camp to camp; her father's death, etc. Those days are important to her. The whole routine keeps her from getting lost in the monotany of every day. It makes a day important when it's passing is marked. I'm making this up. But I suppose it's important that it is one day and not another. I mark the days from the end of my first round of treatments: 12 days. It's important. I have to have my surgery 6-8 weeks after that, or else surgery starts getting worse, not better. So I guess in some sense I mark the days. Blogging marks the days. It's been 6 days since I posted last. Some of you are probably getting impacient waiting for me to write again (I have to make myself feel important). Since I started writing this post: 13 mins. Enough. Time is moving on without me.
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