The old bastard is back, sneaked up quietly and suddenly last night.
"Surprise! Hello?!
Here I am again. Did you miss me? Did you think I would stay away while
you kept yourself busy with physiotherapy and all this silly walking
around the garden, slowly building up stamina every day?
It looked like a nice old game for a while. You had me in stitches.
Well, here is
the thing. I want it now. Your energy, attention, your ridiculous concept of
health and recovery. Hand it over. There's a good girl.
Remember: I am your chronic disease. We are buddies forever.
Dole
out the cortisone for all you want, go on, you do that now, but it will
just patch things up, poorly and let's not forget my special treats. Yes, clever girl, the side effects.
I rule supreme."
No. I hate hearing this.
ReplyDeleteOh Sabine, this is such sad news. I could type a string of expletives here, and I know you know what it would sound like.
ReplyDeleteNo, he doesn't rule supreme. He needs you, otherwise he's a chimera. Mainly he's an irritant, a parasite, a bad wind, a piece of music out of tune, Pol Pot's pot de chambre, lacking dignity. He'll never be willingly taken on a date, he is sexually useless, ever held in contempt. When he's denied your nervous system he must sleep where he may, typically in defunct gent's lavatories.
ReplyDeleteHe is in fact Donald Trump's myrmidon.
Aaack! I hate that old bastard.
ReplyDeleteI want him to leave you. I want him to leave you in peace. With all my heart. Sending love. Remembering all the light we cannot see.
ReplyDeleteOh dear, I am sorry. May you find relief or it find you. Soon.
ReplyDelete