But I wasn’t going to talk about these matters, even though they are way more vital to your future life than anything happening in mine. What happens to me is irrelevant, except to the little group of people who might prefer to have me around. When I’m gone, the tiny tiny ripple will disappear nearly as quickly as that made by a raindrop in the Brisbane River last week.
Each time it is almost certain to be a bit less effective.
Yesterday I walked with Sylvia further than I have done since returning from Melbourne last March. My shaky old right arm, though seriously out of alignment, is stronger than it has been since we controlled the seizures. Though the holes in my memory seem to be increasing and though recent events can confuse me, I am retaining some degree of lucidity or I wouldn’t be writing this.