On my balcony. It was a kind of gift - gift in the way some teenagers drop their babies off at fire stations. It was dying on my neighbor's balcony and I agreed to adopt him.
Five months ago, my doctor told me that I would be dead in a year if something didn't change. A lot needs to change that is beyond my control. The stuff within my control is - well, has always been out of my control. I realized a few weeks ago that I've been preparing to die. Every day I make sure my legs and pits are shaved, in case this is another day I end up in the ER. I've been thinking about making a 'Mommy Manual' full of all the ways I do all the things I do that keep things running without anyone really knowing how, but I keep not getting to it. Every time I try to turn my mind in that direction, my mind simply and slowly fades to static. Instead, I spend my time doing stupid things online like trivia quizzes, etc.
The truth is, I think part of me is trying to sabotage me, trying to kill me off.
This all sounds mysterious in a way I don't mean it to. It's not my intention to keep you guessing. It's an exercise in privacy and control. I want to keep some things private and this is one more way I can control a situation that often seems to have spun way beyond mine. When they stick a tube up your ass and pump your intestines full of gunk, you start placing a pretty high premium on privacy.
I'd rather have someone laugh at the diagnostics than sympathize (or scoff) over the diagnosis.
