Tuesday … only Tuesday?

CoffeeIt’s one of those “give me more coffee” days combined with “I can’t drink any more coffee, my stomach is a mess” mornings, and, uhm, well. Ugh.

Time is moving very slowly. My stomach is at it again, off and on. This has been going on for more than a year now and is quite tiresome. There seems no rhyme or reason to the flarings up, and new added feature, in the past week I have twice been wakened in the middle of the night by the physical urge to vomit. Oh, hoorah. I have managed not to do so, but my sleep is disturbed. Long, short: again, today, going on about two hours of actual sleep, and there is odd-thought-morphing from the waking-fever dreams by which I was tormented last night which now elide into real-life and I am in a half-doze state and doing my dazed, not quite focused thing.

I am, then, now, here where I am staying with a darling, ancient dog who is having trouble lifting her hind quarters from resting position, who looks at me with some confusion and sense of betrayal, as if I have aged her, as if I have exhausted her body, and I smile each time, and I wait, patiently, and I say, “Tess, I am having those sorts of aches and exhaustions my own self. I get it. No one will put me down either.”

All of this which-ness is making me so longing and achey for my dear Sissie, who died twelve years ago. I keep having these, “Oh, I need to tell Sissie –” moments; mental-spiritual urges to share with her, involuntary, habit, striking before I remember she is not here. And then, the echo, the aftermath of the urge: I cry. I am sick with wanting to talk to her. Honestly, I feel like it is a symptom of this whatever illness I have that no one seems able to define.

Brideshead originalIt is manifesting now in this desire to find someone with whom to read on a roof, all Bridesheady and unspoken sort of quiet sort of erotic sort of inevitable sort of here we are and here it is and we won’t talk about it because it will ruin it sort of Sebastian and Charles sort of thing. You know, just the sort of disaster I have thought romantic my whole life? Ha.

We all know how these things turn out, Charles. Let’s not.

gif bonnie and clyde

Really, not. Again.

bonnie shot

Good day, dears. Keep away from the news. I know I am. Maybe some day I will sign back on to Twitter or other social media or read a paper, but right now, nope.

Love and light, kids.

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