Freak show

What do you think when you see pictures of yourself? I'm horrified by my own. The internal image of me I carry around conflicts sharply with photographs of myself.

Me holding a Corgi with cabins in the background.

The picture here was taken today (Sunday, January 21, 2018) by a friend in Valley Forge Park. I was walking a sister-in-law's dog (I picked her up just for the photograph). I look so misshapen, a word I seldom use because a) It's antiquated, and b) I'm not sure how to pronounce it, which I know doesn't matter when you're writing something but you should know how to pronounce the words you write.
Soon I'll have my right leg amputated and look even weirder than I do here. (See previous entries for background on this if you wish.) 
This evening, my city's football team, the Philadelphia Eagles, will compete against the Minnesota Vikings in a playoff contest. As with every football game ever played since 1958, I will not be watching.

Still walking

A jetliner heads for Philadelphia at dusk.

I'm writing this on January 2, 2018, at 3:45 p.m. Soon I'll take my afternoon walk. I go at dusk, when the sun's dipping to the horizon, which in my suburban neighborhood means trees and houses not far away. 
When I walk in the morning, I walk in Valley Forge Park, which has broader vistas. I've avoided the park the past few days because of the snow—I don't need to risk a fall.
My walks in the afternoon are around a loop formed by two quiet streets. It's about a mile long. There are no traffic lights, few cars, and the best sight I get on those walks is the sky, the moon, and bare trees against the sky. 
I'm not walking for exercise—that's pointless now. I do it to see the outdoors in a way I won't be able to much longer, probably forever, given the likelihood that my sarcoma will kill me in a year or so. At times I make myself stop and just look. I look at the houses, the street and, of course, the sky. This is something I wouldn't normally do because I've always been self conscious and worried that people would see me as an eccentric man, stopping for no reason, looking up at nothing.
Now I stop whenever and wherever I want to, and just look.

Last walks

As the knowledge of my likely death within a year or so due to the chondrosarcoma I have that has now spread to a lung sinks in, keeping it together is becoming more of a challenge. I sleep little, which is

A covered bridge in Valley Forge, Pennsylvania.

unfortunate as that's the only good escape from my woes. I can barely eat. You always hear that bad news dulls the taste buds, but that's not really true, at least in my case. Things taste the same, they just don't taste good enough to overcome the gloom.
Considering that I will have my right leg amputated within a month or two, I am treasuring my walks more than ever. This link will take you to one of the video recordings I made of myself walking. It might be the least interesting video you ever see.

Every day is worse

The diagnosis I got earlier this week, that I am terminally ill and that no treatment can save me, has changed my life, as you might expect. Although my condition was detectable only by various scans and I feel well, I'm questioning every little twinge and ache in my body. I know that's stupid, but I also knows that I have conditions in my lungs, heart, prostate and leg, so I'm not too wrong about this. 

Some cabins at Valley Forge Park.

I have been taking sleeping pills before bed and they work well but I still wake up before five in the morning and can't get back to sleep. During the days, I feel as though my clothes are made of lead. I took one of my walks in Valley Forge Park today, but rather than see nature's beauty, I saw only beauty that I will never see again in a year, two if I'm lucky. 
I wonder, will I adjust to this and be able to read or watch a movie again or will such things be too slight to distract me?

The Lawn Mower

Was it late October? Probably. That would have been the last time The Complete and Total Loser mowed his lawn. He put the mower, a Honda push mower he bought used on Craigslist last spring, back in the garage where it spent the long and severe winter months dripping out the remainder of its fuel. The last time it ran it ran unevenly, wheezing. The Loser will have it tuned up when the small mechanic's shop he can walk it to reopens next week. He filled it this morning just to see if he showed any signs of life. He bent and unbent his right arm a few times and said to himself, "Get ready to pull this chord a hundred times!" 
He pulled once.
It started.
Shit.
The grass, if you can call it that, was abandoned-house long. Not anymore. 
To reward himself, the Loser went to Trader Joe's where he bought a food wrap and a container of carrot juice that he took to the park and ate while watching others exercise, like the mothers in the photo below.

Two mothers push strollers as they run in Valley Forge National Park.