The stench of urine is starting to overwhelm me. I have a new found appreciation for showers, soap, and the unencumbered ability to walk around breathing fresh oxygen. The light has darkened and so I know it is now night. There are no other moans. Everyone around me is dead. I am Kate Winslet at the end of Titanic and it sucks ass.
I dropped my water bottle yesterday and haven't been able to reach the other bottle in my bag, so my thirst is rampant. The pain, at least, for the time being is gone. I am now numb on most of the right side of my body. I think I may have drifted in and out of sleep -- but I'm not sure. I wiggle my toes every now and then to make sure that I'm not paralyzed. So far, so good.
I think about mothers who are able to lift cars when their children are pinned underneath them, and why I'm unable to do that for myself. Part of me understands that to be part of a group is perhaps, the essence of humanity.
I start to draw on my lessons from Oprah and begin my ritual of being grateful. I still have energy in me to empower positive thoughts -- and that, for now has to be enough to sustain me.
I am grateful that I am not bleeding to death.
I am grateful that there are no fires.
I am grateful that I'm not paralyzed.
I am grateful that no one is here to smell my urine.
I am grateful that I haven't had to go number two.
I am grateful for the ability to see some light so I have an idea as to how much time may have passed.
I am grateful for the oxygen that I am able to breath despite being under this rubble.
I am grateful to be alive.
I will get out of here.
I will take a shower.
I will be ok.
Everything is going to be fine.
