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Sunday, February 14, 2010

On Light Switches and Wobbliness


Someone has moved the light switches in my house.  What other explanation can there be?  Not all of the switches have been moved, but I have trouble with the one in den, always reaching right and wondering who moved it to the left.  The same is true with my closets.  When I reach for the switches on the outside wall I realize they are on the inside.  But which

There’s more.  I don’t turn the lights when I need to.  I find myself making coffee in a dim room and wonder why I can’t perform this easy task, wondering if I’m going blind.  Only then do I realize that I am working  in the morning’s first light and I turn on he light.

I’m always dropping things, breaking some.  I spilled  coffee just this morning.  I was on my  bedside table and fortunately only quarter full but I had to stop writing and clean up my own fucking mess.

I’m wobbly in my body and soul, the same way I have been before.  I don’t like it.  It makes me feel crazy (which we already know), and I hate it.  If Clint were here, he would put me in bed and instruct me to stay down, to nap and and relax and refuel my soul.  I would cry all over him then fall asleep to wake with his body pushed close enough for me to feel feel is pulse.  He was my shield against depression, that is, until he got too sick to prop me up  and I got sicker and sicker until I landed in hospital.

I was there for 10 days and came out better medicated and beginning to get back my sea legs.  He came for visiting hours except once when he didn’t  feel well enough.

My dyslexia has reared its ugly head which has put me at war with my keyboard  I wish I had a dollar for all the times I have rearranged letters to make words clear, cut out words and phrases, deleted text, edited it.

I can’t type without great effort.   This post has been a fucking nightmare, and it’s not even a good one!

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