Perhaps I am actually in the early stages of dying, and the Asian student who suggested emphysema missed the mark, and I am more correctly caving in to COPD, but so what. I aspired, failed, lived a life of denigration, and you will say the expense of inhalers and steroids and hearing aids I cannot afford even with Medicare and Medicaid is a good thing, and no, I am on the verge of giving up, despite mio padre's guilt. "Don't go in a home," he says.
What the fuck is the bloody difference if I have to be maintained by minorities who feel my hostility even if it is unspoken? I am not afraid of my bath chair today, but that out of basic indifference. I have been breathing like a pneumatic drill since I caught what I hope was a cold, in early December, and the last time I saw a student, or an intern, they gave me Zyrtec. I doubt an antihistamine will do the trick.
If I once believed I was a good person, this is no longer the case, whether or not my triggers are not capable of worse. My Mucinex tablets are not fresh, but I have taken now what I believe to be my fourth. They too once cleared fairly severe bronchial inflammation, and so I wait, going to feed the children tuna, lying back down to read, having contacted the UK author who solicited me.
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