I asked A if she thought I was dying. She said no she didn’t. Why, I asked. Because you would be feeling much worse, she said. So think about that. How things can be worse. This is not a new idea to me. It is just worse now, to consider it. Is that because it is now? Or because I am in such unutterably dreadful shape now, how can I endure a further deterioration?
I seem to be learning all over again how to type, this time with no hands, just single claws and I have to watch the keys. I have to go back again and again to make corrections. sometimes to correct autocorrect, because i am not looking at the screen and it makes edits without me knowing.
I am looking at the cut flowers on the mantle. They are not plants, or pets. They don’t require care. just cut stems, a vase and toss them when they are done. But as I am no longer the one seeing to that, what do I have to say about it. They look nice. No thanks to me.
This is denial. I won’t imagine myself into the future like this. But then I stop imagining. Because I can’t see anything else either.