When you have insomnia, you're never really asleep; and you're never really awake.

Four a.m., and I'm crawling underneath my dining set, silently cursing the parking lot lights across the street. Since I don't have curtains yet, anyone can witness my search for a tab of fast acting morphine that rolled off my palm in the semi-darkness. Only my husband would think it was cute, but I feel like Gollum.

Chuck left for London last night, Andrew and Catherine are leaving for Paris tonight, and Paul will be leaving for Italy next week. Summer's coming.

One more day of Xeloda, and hopefully I won't be as loopy as before. It takes me twice the time to return email because I nod off in the middle of typing. I was so disoriented this morning, I didn't recognize James or my apartment. I figured maybe he was some guy who stayed over after a party I threw the night before. Is it the morphine or anzamet that's scrambling my brain?

My parents stopped by this morning for a visit Angel said they were freaked out by yesterday's posting. I feel terrible about that. But I'm so out of it right now, nothing is really getting through to central command. I'm trying to eat some tofu while I type, but everything is tasting metallic today. There's also the occasional wave of nausea, but mostly, I'm shuffling around like a stoned walrus. James is my patient and benevolent caretaker who found me off the California Coast, tangled in seaweed after the record winter storms.

It's been ten months since the diagnosis. It will be another ten mnths before my chemo sessions are done. I'm a wreck.