Am I better? I ask myself on waking. It’s too early to say. Not yet. I used to kick such things out quite quickly from my body. I am a bad patient, an impatient one. I swallowed the stuff from childhood about not malingering, so taking rest in order to recover isn’t easy. I need to be utterly floored to do so and that is rare. Something isn’t quite right. That’s all. A bit under the weather. Whatever that means.
She had a fall again. Outside. She hit the back of her head and bruised her coccyx. Now she is in hospital. In a mixed sex ward. Poor love. So strong, yet so fragile.
She comes across as a good woman, kind even, but still I am uncomfortable, as is demonstrated by the inane things that come out of my mouth when I pay my now annual visit to see her. I read things as ticking offs when they probably aren’t, which just adds to my agitation. It’s the handing over the body thing, it’s mine not theirs. And I believe that I know it better than they do. And there are the pills. I don’t want them, at least not anymore. Agh! We just don’t mix. Accept it. And behave with as good grace as you can.
Sometimes, as we all can be sometimes, I suppose, when I wake him for breakfast he is grumpy. He says its the dreams of the second, post-wee sleep. This morning it was hard for him to shake it off. Let me be understanding. Always.
I don’t know what it is. It’s been hanging over my head, and weighing down my heart for some time now. Am I bored with myself and the life that I have made? Is that it? A need for change? But how can I implement this without disrupting the pleasure he seems to derive from this life of ours? It’s a crossness borne of fear. I don’t know what to do with myself, at least what I will do with myself when all this is over. It will be a caged sort of freedom, a freedom with constraints. I struggle with this disease – I know my blessings. I do.
They think that they may have a buyer for the flat downstairs. Yet more change. The daughter said that he’s buying for the quiet. He’s studying and doesn’t want to be disturbed. They’ve yet to exchange contracts, so we will see. It is still a change, for good or bad.
I was going to write about the pleasure that hearing the rain outside my window as I fell to sleep gave me, but instead I want to talk about stepping away. He read Hilary Rose’s column about Harry and Meghan needing to be loved by the world, as is evidenced by how they try to portray themselves via social media. I understand. Don’t most of us suffer from the same need? Well perhaps not all, I can think of a few. I certainly post my drawings and do all this educating of myself in an attempt to be ‘told’ that I am good enough. When will I allow myself to stop and just be good enough in my eyes? Soon?
I don’t know where it comes from. Perhaps I just expected it and it came. I cannot lift myself from it, not even to smile and that shames me. I have so many blessings, why are they not enough?
The man on the radio said that it was International Cousin Day. Well, in celebration of that, I wish you a happier time, cousin mine. And an end to this onslaught of chemo. May all that ails you disappear. Soon. x
I don’t know why it happens, I always used to sleep well, that is until I moved to Bath, then my nights were long ones, as they are now. I was doing a PhD then too. And was just as afraid. Fear does it, I suppose. I want to sink into morpheus but fear won’t let me. The daytime lessens its potency, only for it to return during the night. The fault is mine, as in most things. I know my blessings but fear of failing blinds me to them.