Again. Another day. I hear my two youngest that share my home leave for work. My daughter’s little dog comes into my room after she’s gone to work and cries to at me to be picked up. I do, and she digs under my blankets and falls asleep.
Hour by hour goes by. I fight to stay asleep. Noon comes. Noon gives way to one o’clock. Then it’s two o’clock. I dread the searing pain of getting up. It’s the end of the third week of the month and pain meds are dwindling. Not enough. My bank account is dwindling. I should be up and looking for gigs or finding ways to replace the job I lost in October.
But I can’t care anymore.
What I had to live for was gone ten years ago. I am feeble and weak. It’s like fending off cannon balls with a feather. Every breath, every step – it’s all too hard.
I just want it all to stop.