John Swinburn

No matter that I might want to write—or to have written—something profound or even moderately meaningful, I just cannot.

Disjointed sleep patterns added a touch of interest to my life for a while.

Flavors of Indian and Indonesian food urge me to change who I am and where I go.

Leaders of nations serve as role models.

This place is not suitable for a man who relies on weakness for balance.

Yesterday afternoon, while sitting in our “entertainment room” watching Jeopardy with mi novia and mi cuñada, I was struck by the amazing scope of knowledge of the television participants…and by the people sitting alongside me.

REVISED: I’ve lost track of time again; the majority of the last six days—more or less—exist only as fragmented memories that seem to rely on a blend of experience and the compensation my imagination provides.

My original diagnosis of lung cancer, around Thanksgiving in 2018, did not correspond with a big increase in traffic to this blog.

The time has somehow slipped by, unnoticed.

The desire for solitude competes with the need for company or companionship.