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.
