Utility grass is stuck in my head as a dream remnant. Grass that is useful. I was thinking this as a distraction from something else in the dream.
Which brings me to the current moment. Eight months into this lockdown, I am tired. I have watched time and solitude erode all the progress my elder has made, and thanks to that erosion (among other things), we are off to a GI doctor because of elevated enzyme levels. Second time in four years we are in a crisis owing to eating.
He's not even insanely heavy. He's wired to rebel when his weight moves beyond a prescribed threshold. We're there now. Trying to convince him to do better for himself is impossible; after all, he doesn't feel sick, so what's the problem?
The problem, my dear, is that you can drive yourself to a way early grave. And you might not get any warning.
I talk to a wall.
I know where my energies need to go right now. And I need to make that happen, no matter how difficult for me this is.
But? I am tired. This is my third decade into this and it is not getting easier.
I am running out of time.
I need to help him figure this out.
No comments:
Post a Comment