I don’t talk often of my mom but the going thought these days is that, on top of the mini strokes and other funny spells, it may be cancer to boot. It’s got to be body-wide; it’s just too huge. The pain, the heat, the weakness, the sadness, the inevitability of it all.
So, no, I really don’t care about anything else right now. At all, in case anyone is wondering if there are exceptions.
I’ve lived in my apartment for five years now, and everyone knows I’ve been looking to leave for at least the past three years. Alas, overwork and exhaustion and the general Pain in the Ass of it All has let inertia continue to win.
I often think, though, why just change apartments when I can reinvent myself with a new everything. Like, a new city and state.
There are days when I can take comfort in the ridiculousness of it all. That no matter who you are and where you are, your situation is so outlandishly mind-boggling that, really, making a move is only going to result in moving from one Bizarro World to the next.
And then you talk to someone who has been rewarded with support and understanding and near-immunity and the opportunity to heal right where they’re standing, and you think, well, haven’t I earned that too?
Not in the same way everyone feels entitled to it. In the way you have lived your life, even the lazy and self-serving even say, damn, she really should be next in line for some favor.
And you wonder whether you can have so much more.
Honestly I’d trade everything for access to a great meal, a well-made cocktail and the ability to spend a day in bed without the world caving in.
And I do mean everything.
I just don’t know that it’s accessible from here.