It floors me, sapping my energy and taking away any sense of achievement by a task done. I know the fault if mine. Always mine. But it is a hard pattern to break. I feel so clumsy, so awkward, suddenly the language I use and own, is not mine any longer. I am speaking foreign, a gobbly-de-gook of sounds. Oh, give me grace. Let me learn to stand back. It doesn’t matter, he says, over and over again. So what, is another. So what. If only. I got irritable with her, as she, no doubt got with me. She was the first one that I spoke to on the helpline that hasn’t been all patience and kindness. It’s not the way I do it, she said. Just help me. I wanted to implore. Help me to understand this. She didn’t. I fudged through.
