Staggering towards the tail end of another year, what should I feel? Pride in the small things achieved? Sorrow for the big things that I have not? Acceptance of my condition? Or rsistance? But of course I know the answer to the latter: It has to be acceptance. I can then confront what the PCA Brain Gremlins may or may not have in store. I am not alone. There are others like me, whom I have met and laughed with. Watching us, a stranger would not guess our secret. But there is a curious shame within me; a sense of incompleteness. I feel a repugnance at my own condition, as one’s dignity is chipped away. All of these negative thoughts, I try to banish: They serve no purpose. It is more constructive to regard myself as a kind of laboratory and note each alteration in myself with a detached objectivity, and thus, another stage of life. And this is life. And we are alive. Life, and how you live it, comes in many guises.