The Haps

Trippy picture of my eye, back when I was clear-eyed and eye-lashed. See the blue sky and the road reflected in my iris?

I start my day by crying. Eric wakes me up, and that's nice. He'll say something about love and coffee, and Eric's voice is the sound that I most love, anyway. It doesn't matter what he says. If some mean, unreasonable, god were to take away my hearing for 364 days plus 23 hours a year, leaving me just an hour every year to hear anything I chose -- and how's that for an if -- I'd choose Eric's voice.

So waking up is okay.

But then I cry for a while, because I can't fully extend my arm, and my nose is bleeding, and the wound-that-will-not-heal on my chest has opened up in the night, and I'm tired, and my head hurts, and my bones hurt, my mouth tastes like dirty pennies again.

The rift between me and the rest of the world grows wider and wider. My friends for the most part don't even ask how I'm feeling, and I have nothing to add to their conversations about... hmmmm... things that concern people who have reason to believe they'll be around for a while.

I'll be around for a while, too. But it ain't the same. And it's never going to be the same. And I don't know how much longer I can meet people where they are, or why I would want to make the effort. It's just kinda hard.

No work tomorrow... just doctor stuff.