Hope.

I've always wrestled with the idea of hope. Sometimes I equate it to a squirrel who is really hungry and is looking at a likely patch of leaves. Maybe there's a nut there.

Or a pigeon dignifiedly picking through a bunch of gravel. Maybe THIS one will be a seed.

But a human being . . . hope is such a different thing. The squirrel or pigeon don't know that they will die without food. They will just die, never knowing or being aware of why they died. In a way, that is excellent. It's not good to know you're going to die. And I'm not talking about in the course of a normal lifetime. Sure, we're all going to die, it's just a matter of the where and when. We like it like that.

So when someone, say, a doctor, tells you you have maybe three, maybe six and behind his back he somehow throws up his hands, mentally, for sure, but you see it, then you're suddenly on your own. See, if you're going to be executed, you KNOW THE DATE. YOU CAN PREPARE FOR IT.

But when there's no date, just someone who is supposedly in a position of trust telling you, well. you're umm, going to die. I don't know exactly when but I could say max six months.

You see in his or her face that he or her is not fucking around. It's not in his or her interest to fuck around with your life. If there were something he could do, he'd do it. But basically he's telling you it's all over. You're riddled with cancer that has spread to your lungs and kidneys and liver and the chemo hasn't worked and surgery would just make your short life miserable. Pain management is all we could do now. Just go home now.

But all of a sudden there's HOPE. YES, HOPE. There's RUN FROM THE CURE.

Yes, that's what's going to cure you. See? It's absolutely free! It has nothing to do with meddlesome doctors and impersonal drug companies . . . THIS IS GOING TO WORK! YES! YOU'RE NOT GOING TO DIE!

Just like Abu Assam Latif from Nigeria is going to give you 25% of his 120,000,00 inheritance or you're going to ABSOLUTELY WIN THE $50M jackpot this weekend if only you buy ten instead of your two tickets.

Frankly, I'd rather be a cat with terminal cancer than Anna, who is such a doll that you would go nuts over if you knew her. Or her husband.

I hope.

I hope.

But I know.