Inventory

Everyday begins alike. The alarm intrudes into my consciousness, squawking that it's time for inventory. I take a moment to imagine others waking up with the last remnants of a dream in their minds or a list of mundane items that must be crossed off before bedtime and I envy their normal thoughts. I wonder if they realize how lucky they are.

Sigh, inventory. The pain that wracked my body during the heart of darkness has subsided. Not completely gone, but it no longer requires active debate of when I should call 911. Curled into a ball and begging for death, I win the argument to not call for help by suggesting the act of argument voids the need for help. If I truly needed help, there would be no room for debate. I might be delusional, but at least I'm delusional in my own bed.

My chest hurts. Deep, stabbing pain, like a screwdriver has been driven between my ribs. Oh God, it hurts, but not enough to call in sick. This morning it has settled beneath the right side of my rib cage. I take a deep breath. No change. Good, if it moves upward toward my heart...I will struggle.

Back, between my shoulder blades. Aches dully.

Occipital nerve, where it disappears into my skull. Tingles, like my blood is carbonated.

Fingernails, all ten. Throb.

Left ankle. Smarts.

Right calf. Cramped.

Everything else. Well, it won't kill me, at least not today.

Morning inventory completed, I sit up, grab my blue speckled cane and hobble unsteadily down the hall. It will be a good day.