I’ve been so silent of late and for once it isn’t my coldness sending me into some emotionless void.  I am just still.  I don’t pace, and I don’t prowl or claw the walls with restless anger or rage.  It’s a quiet that I appreciate even as I suspend my mind to write this sentence out:

I was waiting to see if I had cancer.

It’s funny, you see, this concept of something going on without my permission because, I control everything on some level.  I would have said that I control my body with equal ruthlessness, but in all truth, this has made it clear that I do not.  I guide it, help it, with a regimine that determines its shape, but not its potential.

And like anything else, it can turn on you.

The test itself was clear, but the taste of its potential hasn’t left my mouth.  I’ve watched someone die from it.  I’ve seen it destroy everything and finally take what was left of the rubble.  I’ve seen its hand of violence and can’t stomach the idea of seeing it again - especially first hand.

And it’s caused this pause.  I am in reflection.

This is sadly no-where near the much more salicious on-goings of my relationship with N.  Or sex.  Or my slight razor fetish, dominance or any of the other things I speak to you about day to day, or lately week-to-week.

and it isn’t as if I haven’t lived my life.  I think this just gave me pause to remind me, in the midst of whining about jogging, that I am not ready to give it up.

Tonight however, I’m thinking of the man who smiled through it all even as the rest of us were crying.