I know the dog days of the summer
Have you ten-to-one out-numbered
Seems like everybody up and left and they're not coming back
The shadow that you're standing on's still here sometimes that's all that you can ask
And your heart's still beating

Yes, these, as they say, are the dog days. I'm not sure if the summer part is coincidence or not. In my--our--case, I think it might be. Yes, they have me--er, us--outnumbered. The dog days seem to outweigh the others at this point--whatever those might be. At this point, they are only memories. But they used to be something else, I promise. The shadow? I don't know if I'm standing on it, but there is one here. It is elusive. It changes. But, it is here. And yes, my heart is beating--a blessing and the curse. A blessing in that I am here--experiencing--trying--hoping. A curse in that I am doing all of that within the limitations of the Impossible. IS that really a curse? I don't know, maybe it is the beer talking.

You're not the fastest draw in town now
How many times you been shot down now?
Seems like everybody else could see the things you never did
But if you could yourself you'd probably never have made it through the things you did
With your heart still beating

No, I am not the quickest draw in town. I am not the sharpest tool in the shed, either. The list goes on and on. I've been shoy down quite a few times--even left for dead a couple. It is no longer surprising; it is always hurtful. But, it passes. Yes, others see things I don't. If I saw them, I may or may not have made it, you are right. But, you know what? If I saw what they saw, I'd be miserable. Seeing what they don't means I see what they don't--and you know--that is why I continue to try even after being shot down. That is why I continue to beat--to pound within each second--to pump blood that goes in a vicious circle.

I know the dog days of the summer Have you ten-to-one out-numbered
It seems like everybody else saw trouble sneaking up behind
Left you half dead in the street but that just means you're half alive
And your heart's still beating

These dog days of summer, they are difficult, and confusing, and even awkward at times. These days . . . Everyone saw the trouble--well, sure. Everyone always sees everyone's trouble. Half dead? Now you are just talking oxymorons. We are all already dead--being half-dead means nothing. No, I'd rather listen to this dead, dying heart--than worry about anyone else's trouble, or not try at all. I'd rather live these dog days, as you call them, than skip the heat of summer altogether. I'd rather be a dog even--which I am and have been--than worry about trouble or people or anyone else.

I'm sorry for the dogs and the days--but I'm thankful that my heart beats, and that you made it beat faster for such a time as you did.

My heart is still beating, even though it knows the blood goes in a circle.