Outside my window the world performed its daily chores. The sun rose gently, peering slowly over the eastern horizon, turning the night sky into an artist's canvas before revealing itself in full array. My neighbors were already out the door in an attempt to get a jump on the morning traffic. Interstate 10 began to grumble under the weight of the 18 wheelers as they vied for position in the fast lane. The occasional chirping bird and barking dog added background to the carpenters' nail guns, as they fastened wood to wood, still repairing damage from last years hurricanes.

6:45 a.m. tick 6:46 a.m. tick 6:47 a.m..... I counted the minutes as they crept by. Still 13 minutes before my first dose of medicine for the day, my statue sat in my chair by the window, glued and frozen in a state of motionless awareness. The 12 hour period since yesteday's last dose of meds had again taken its toll, but soon the rigor mortis would yield and release my statue for a season, allowing me to perform still one more day.

Today, when someone casually asks me the question, "How are you doing?" will I answer them tuthfully, or will I lie one more time? I will probably lie. Afterall, I am a walking statue, and that is a miracle. Isn't it?

michael