Ode to a Nightengale

I have not had a cigarette since Sunday, July 27, at approximately 8:30 PM, so if I make it till 8:30 PM, Saturday, August 8, I will not have had a cigarette, if my math is correct for 13 days.  Making it till 8:30 PM is far from assured.  For sadly, I must say I do not feel better, having not smoked a cigarette for 12 days, but much, much worse.  At my previous intake of 12 cigarettes with about 12 cups of coffee a day, I can say, that while I was not operating at optimal efficiency, I was at least somewhat functional.

Now I don’t have the emotional strength, the mental powers of concentration, or the physical wherewithal to summon the adjectives or to develop an analogy that might evoke my state; so instead I use the words of John Keats who knew fatigue since he was dying of TB.

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains

      My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,

Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains

     One minute past and Lethe-wards I had sunk

Well, that sums up my current state pretty well I think.  A “drowsy numbness” does “pain my sense” and my head as well as my heard aches and I yearn to slip Lethe-wards towards Oblivion (sleep) like every second.

The only positive trend I have been so far able to detect, I detected with my trusty blood pressure machine that I bought for the low, low price of $19.95 at Costco.  Just a few minutes ago my blood pressure registered 104 over 51 with a resting pulse of 55.  These I have been told are good numbers, those even of an athlete.  But since I am not an athlete and incapable of such endeavor because of my knees and elbow problems, I must conclude something has gone terribly wrong.  Perhaps it’s my thyroid.  And while people may die of high blood pressure, I think it should be noted that when people are actually dead their blood pressure is very low.

But through the fatigue and the Lethe-wards sinking, one thing remains crystal clear: