I
am not going to catch hell from pulling an all nighter today. TLC has dropped
my case, and the JEVS case manager, of course, wasn’t informed that I’m
quadriplegic. I informed her yesterday at the last moment, 3:30, then the West
African nearly took my foot off, and this is public assistance at its finest.
Just finished an inconclusive message exchange with Victoria, a woman whom I
previously stated I wasn’t going to characterize, a woman whose employment
caring for my dead stepmother was terminated shortly before this latest death
watch, and nothing ever happens at the right time for me, except that another
Caucasian all-American flake with television wide blue eyes texts me in the
middle of the night as if she and I were in high school. She is sweet, thinks
Louise was sweet, and I’ve spent far too much time trying to utilize her now
inability to assist me, could unfriend her, but where else am I going to get
material? I wasn’t okay for a little
while. I may never again masquerade the perception of imperturbability again, with my antagonism toward Louise
miscued as Victoria refused to read the sharpness in my query about her
condolences. I don’t hate Louise, didn’t know her well enough for that, as the
bottom drops out from under my solar plexus, all of her suffering, the duress,
my 82 year old father’s emptiness, no one left to boomerang on his anger over
his dead son, my sense of displacement over Hawking’s demise surreal, as
otherworldly as his deadpan explanations of the cosmos. I am not going to get
past the physical punishment I am taking, and it is on me for leaving Hahnemann
internal medicine prior to 2016, on me for my subsequent collapse, my failure
with Jefferson, not changing where I am in the present, none of Hawking’s
reserve and humor, elusive referencing. The difference between his lampooned
round the clock care and my father’s wife is one of utility, of function.
Louise either desired or was made to combat her rheumatoid arthritis and its
blood infections too hard; it was too hard on mio padre, and didn’t help me
from a distance, but Hawking was a public spectacle, footage of his emaciated
frame in a tarp on TMZ, I truly regret his passing, as much as I sometimes
regret investigative journalism.
It
may be a post modern aspect, sympathizing with bad actors, and this horse has
long bolted out of the barn despite my mild censure, but exactly who did the
Pittsburgh Post Gazette help in its expose of Tim Murphy’s texts? The woman he
slept with, us? We tend to see his private interactions with his mistress as
hypocritical, but a man’s life was destroyed because he yielded to temptation.
One of my lovers also offered to pay for a d & c, as it’s called, a uterine
scrape, but then I calmed down. Fortunately, my life wasn’t further complicated
by an unwanted pregnancy with a married man, but I am beginning to wonder about
which shark is worse, the aphrodisiac of power, or the lunge to take it down.
We have lost faith in institutions, in legislative processes, each other, and
then hand the baton to the next fresh face. Do you ever stop to consider the
devastation we’ve wrought?
No comments:
Post a Comment