When surviving isn't enough

Four thirty AM and I am up for the fourth time this night, this time residing at my G5 while I reset. Most nights aren't this bad. On occasion, something gnawing at my brain keeps me awake; this night I find a combination of physical and mental incursions to be the culprit.

My fingernails grow faster than bamboo. I can wear them down or chew them to the quick on my right hand but my left, largely unused, largely useless and largely ignored, the fingers now most permanently bent, finds its fingernail growth unchecked. When I sleep, I release conscious control of its behavior and the nails, long, dig into my palm and I wake up. I can't chew them- my paralysis has twisted my wrist enough to prevent a proper chewing angle. A few hours ago I woke Amy and she kindly trimmed them. Add to my night excitement the thought of getting out of the house today and participating in bank business, moving business and general business, after a day so bereft of responsibility as to allow me to remain upstairs the entire time and you have a recipe for an erratic sleep pattern. For me. I'm just sayin'.

Survival is a minimalist term. Merely surviving a car wreck may not be the desired result of the collision. My situation plays the collision out for months or years. Until I experience the entire event I cannot access the extent of my injury. I do have time, however, to feint and parry in order to avoid the worst effects but my impacts are many and varied, invisible. All I can really do is block and strike into the void, hoping to meet resistance, hoping to prevail.