I am the wind, you are the sand in the skies.
Together we bring tears to everyone's eyes.

Pollux asked me a question I never imagined would be asked of me in any manner other than a hypothetical one:

"Have you made a list of things you'd like to do before you die?"

I haven't and don't plan to do so. I won't accomplish everything on it, and, my mother taught me that if I can't do something right I might as well not do it all..... of course my father said she gave lousy head...

The implication in his asking wasn't meant to say I'm dying, I'm not. He knows that. I know that. I'm far from it. It's a logical question to ask someone when their life has changed, be it for better or for worse.

The simple fact is that my life will be shorter than I expected it to be. I don't think anyone ever really examines how short their life ultimately is, variables or not. Too much time spent thinking about such a thing keeps life from being lived.

Be that as it may, as I learn to balance this knowledge with the choices I make, being asked this question, out loud and in earnest without the tenor of mock humor did give pause.

The recurrent theme has been lists.

Brain to me: upon waking, here's a list of symptoms you have to keep in mind until you have no mind in which to keep.

Neurologist to me: this is a list of your options according to this picture.

Brain to me: oh look! That music playlist you've been listening to and adding to since early April.

Neurologist to me: Here's the list of Head Injury and AVM support groups.

Brain to me: where's your list of prophylaxis medication options?

UW to me: Here's a list of your course projections for if you return by such and such a time.

Brain to me: where's your list of people to thank for not disappearing?

Pollux to me: have you made a list of things you want to do before you die?

Brain to me: where's your grocery list?

My adopted Mom to me: make a list of goals: Do as much about the AVM as can be done. Work with the epilepsy. Finish medical school. Find a husband you don't need to fix (the quintessential Mom line I've never heard from my own, HA!), thaw out those eggs and try to have babies (yiiiiiiiikes!).

Brain to me: where's your list of lists?

What I want to do, is take each option on every list, have it printed on a little fortune cookie slip, then toss all of them into a cedar scented box from which I may dig one out every morning and think "Okay. I'll work on this one today."

With my luck, the first one I'll choose would be Mom's suggestion of finding a husband that doesn't need to be fixed.

I'll pocket that one, take a long walk down an overgrown wooded trail with a good book to read, then set the slip of paper on fire and let the blackening embers drift off my palm onto a patch of green moss on the ground.