In the worst of times, when my skin sloughed off and my hair fell out, when I lay sleepless for yet another night, before my heart was broken and my soul all but lost, I kept going with thoughts of what life would be when it was all over. When the last treatment was complete, the last pill swallowed, the last blood test drawn.
I would leave Mr. Lucky behind and go towards the light with Gabriel.
Well, it didn�t exactly work out that way, did it? The light was extinguished, my heart broken and my soul was lost. But I left Mr. Lucky behind anyway. Thing is�.whenever I�ve moved on before it�s always been toward something. Not just away from something.
I thought I would feel different. I don�t what kind of different, but at least different. And after four months on my own I feel exactly the same as I felt before I left.
Oh, the streets are different. The stores are different. The living space is very very different. The new job will be different. And kissing my grandson goodnight every night in person is, in the best way, different.
The sameness of living day after day after day after day is the same. And when the day is done, I go to bed each night and dream the same dreams. I still need to go toward something.
I�ve lived the worst of times. When do I get to live the best of times?
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