Mr. In Between

When she's down, I need to be up. And when she's up, I want to be up. All this up is getting me down. I can't sustain the pace.

I write about this because it seems paradoxical that when her side effects are under control and her cancer is temporarily being quiet, I still feel like I should curl up in a ball and sleep for a week or two.  She, on the other hand, is bouncing around and reveling in reduced pain and somewhat-less-imminent death. It may only be the metastatic-cancer-lady-with-1.5-lungs equivalent of bouncing around, but it is still not the same as a nap.

I feel bad that I can't match her, with a spring in my step and a song in my heart. The sense of relief is eluding me. Upon reflection staying average is he great goal of the caring marathon. Not so low in the lows (spending), not so high in the highs (saving) -- playing the "long game." Still, when she wants to play, I have to crank up my excitement and just try to be happy, which is an effort. If I don't keep up, I can see that I am mystifying her and hurting her feelings.

Job Drift