Small World

How do you know if you are in the world or not. Is it when you do not feel like sleeping all the time. Is it when the news makes you feel like reading on or doing something. Is it when you think you might like to eat after all, or watch one of the shows you’ve been taping. Is it when you go to sleep, expecting to wake up again.

The headline today is that ‘Theresa May lacks understanding about [the] seriousness of [the] NHS crisis’ (The Guardian 15/10/16). If that was true, then she would have to be an unutterable idiot. But she does know. The point is that she and her government want it this way. I wish I had the unilateral ability curse her and her cronies with my life, as punishment, or a wake up call. Or as vindication. Even if there is no vindication. I’ve criticised the view that illness is retributive, or has any cosmic meaning. But I am angry. And it feels like an injustice. A malevolence or a deserved consequence for someone evil, or some evil. As I struggle with my hands and take ten times as long to write anything at all with hands that can’t reach the keys any more. I read this headline and I only wish that the malevolence was mine to land where I will it to. To smite her. So her world and word was as small as mine.

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