Join me as I walk the length of the main dyke at Tiny Marsh. We see sandhill cranes, great blue herons, swans, some ducks and geese and a whole lot of frogs.
The first half, we talk about the wildlife, the marsh, and stories I have about these creatures. On the way back, we talk about Meg 2: The Trench and other magnificently stupid movies.
This is shot with a head mounted camera, so the camera moves a lot and is shakier than is idea.
This is the anniversary of when I started this album. I'm not sure what I thought I was doing then, but eventually I found my comfort zone relating my experiences with the medical system - the administrative side and the treatment side. This was a comfortable place through chemotherapy, and honestly an exciting one for me to be in through surgery. But I've struggled a bit since then.
I thought it was just that surgical recovery was boring (and it is), but chemotherapy was the same two week cycle sixteen times, and I never felt this way about it. I still talk nonstop about my cancer, as any of you who know me in person, or are in the same Facevook groups, can attest. But I haven't been able to figure out this place.
I think the reason is that, in light of my failed surgery and prognosis, the only place it made sense for me to go was do the same kind of day by day thing, but instead of it being about getting the full cancer trearment experience at 35, it's about grappling with mortality at 36 and, statistically, dying at 37.
Mental health wise, I'm just coming down from a minor hypomanic episode and feel stable, bipolar wise. My lithium levels are good. If asked how I'm doing, I'd truthfully answer "good, given the circumstances," but I can't tell you if that means I'm doing good.
I'm not an actor, though, when you see a look of delight on my face, that's real. I do have an actual notebook with an actual list of neat stuff to do and I am actually crossing things off on all my little adventures. I'm getting out and experiencing the world. Probably doing way more than I ever would have if I remained otherwise healthy, too, which is a thought too terrifying to contemplate.
To end, because it's been haunting my dreams and hopefully sharing will help, if someone, someday, talks about my death bed conversion, know that they are a disgusting fiend who takes advantage of the vulnerable to glorify themselves. If disease progression or treatment leaves me vulnerable earlier than that, same logic applies. These people were never able to convince me so far, I doubt they'll come up with something compelling in the next few years. I doubt I'm interesting or notable enough to receive this treatment, but I know it happens, so I know I'm not 100% unreasonable in my fears.
Outside Bala, Ontario, searching for its Bog Beast (visible in far background)
When I bought it, I thought it was a cat, I now realize it's a hamster. My first pets were a pair of hamsters, who's claws terrified me so much I barely held them. And now I have a cat who walks up and bites me for unknown feline reasons, we change so muchAt Balm Beach, arcade, store and restaurant visible as bright lightsRecording videos at the marshGoose friend!Suspect beaver (at Kirkfield lift lock)Mystery door, CollingwoodRainbow trout, ThornburyOld historical rail bridge, ThornburyA cool evening, down by the bayMost antique shop booths are dragon's hoards of shiny things, thrown together. This one was a beautiful room (ft [Lilly]({tag}Lilly))Is he looking at me?State of the MoustacheMemento moriAt the restaurant in Balm Beach (I had what they called an Austin Cheese Steak, which i assume is a regular cheese steak with Texas grilling traditions. I have no idea, it was delicious though)I'm stoned in some of these pictures, but not this one, no matter how it looks.10/10, only note is that I wanted more giant octopusI can tell the chemo really effected me because it's above 30C here, there's no shade for 2km, I've already been outside for half an hour, and I'm just comfortable.
From the comments
James Petrosky: 37 is an estimate. I don't want anyone who knows me well enough to start doing math on my birthday and panicking. 38 is probably a better estimate, but 37 fits the flow a lot better, and it's all statistics based on regular colon cancer anyways
James Petrosky: I want to dramatically say "from here on in its all about death" but honestly it's been that way for a while. You have no idea how happy the "thinking about death" joke in Barbie made me, because a) it was funny, and matched my mental state perfectly and b) gave me a lot of cover to joke about it all summer. So thank you, Uncontrollable Thoughts of Death Barbie, you're a life saver.
James Petrosky: Somewhat related to liars for Jesus are liars for other spiritual causes. Mediums, channelers, seyances, ghost hunters, it's all evidence free nonsense, and they do tremendous harm to people undergoing grief by giving them a false hope that can never, ever be realized. If there is somehow an afterlife that can communicate back to the living, I promise you I'll never, ever give these dangerous frauds the time of day. I can be a stubborn person, and this is the thing I'm most stubborn about, so you can be sure I'll hold to it.
Because we live in something approaching a techno dystopia, it's possible to train a large language model on someone's social media history to create a computer program that can write and speak like you can. Maybe there's not enough information available for me. Almost certianly I'm not important enough for this treatment. But if this is done, and it's done well enough to be convincing, the output program is also not me. It's just an actor, playing a role. The same as a spiritualist, they just learn their script from different sources.