broken bones

A just sent over a text summarising my truly awful MRI report. He is sending a photo of it soon. I don’t think I want to read it. It says what it feels though. Pain, from extensive disease and even a possible pathological fracture on the left. Though the left doesn’t hurt. No hope. And no help. I am thinking I shouldn’t tell my parents. Or even G. though he will read it here. The report is incomplete because they didn’t get pictures of the right pelvis. I wonder if there is any point in doing more. The right is where it hurts the most.

D wrote to the publisher and is looking over our contract. The things I won’t get to do. Books. And the deli in Los Angeles. And the Victoria Beckham denim dress I told k about, that I won’t get to wear. Even this space is running out of space. Just a fragment. But I am so tired. Maybe its the flu. My last MRI was also very bad. But I think this one is worse. No getting around it. Is this the time when people start dispersals of goods and last communications?

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