Day 62 Night - To Tone Down Or Not To Tone Down: That Is The Question Of Authenticity

Hamlet:
To be, or not to be, that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles
And by opposing end them.

Okay, without a doubt, I am no Hamlet nor was meant to be. And there I go again, slipping away from Shakespeare, as I unconsciously quote what is perhaps the greatest poem of the 20th century in the English language, T. S. Eliot's The Love Song Of J. Alfred Prufrock...

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.

Yes, the fool indeed, and this is exactly what my mother now fears because she believes that I really must tone down this blog. After all, when I am blogging about diarrhea and the like, it's just plain disgusting and who the hell wants to read such crap, so to speak, and don't you know and realize that this is on the Internet for the whole world to see? 

Yes, I suppose that I do know that and I suppose that is the reason why I choose not to tone it down in the slightest. If you want to avoid the warts and the rest which I need not go into such detail right now, then you will have to bear with me and this account of my struggles. 

I understand, I realize, I know that at times, I can appear to be, I seem to be, I am the fool. 

But such foolishness I choose to embrace in this struggle because it is my struggle and it is my crucible to survive and to experience and to live, and I will not fail to live it authentically, as myself, and as I am.

I grow old … I grow old ...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.

Yes, the fears are audible. I do not think they will sing to me so I choose to sing my own song. And this is my song and, I am truly sorry, mom, but I will not tone it down. 

It is so easy to become resigned to the reality that I am old and older than I was before and that I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled. Is that what destiny has in store for this boy who is no longer a boy? Is that what fate holds for this man? I do not know the answer, but I know that I shall go on. For, as Samuel Beckett once wrote, in the end, it is the end that is the worst. We must go on a little more, we must go on a long time more and I must go on a little more, I must go on a long time more...

Right now, as the rash continues to spread and so I must venture into the doctor's office again in a few hours to have blood drawn and Interferon shot into my belly and my plight examined, I am nothing more than John Lavitt doing his best to survive and figure out what comes next and remain decent in the torrid face of the storm. If I am to be always in the eye of this storm, then I choose to embrace the calm and the peace and the serenity of the dream that one day this will end and my life will be mine again.