I was deeply, consistently miserable all week. I found it almost impossible to move or get out of bed. I only have a few weeks of treatment left and while I’m hoping for a smooth landing, I’m worried about the very real possibility that the moment I try my new shoes I’ll have to take them off again, get them adjusted, go back to wearing the post-op shoes. I’m also worried about my vision. Underneath it all I’m worried about how these things will affect work, providing I have a job to go back to. How can I work if I can’t walk or see? Will I end disability, just to have to get back on it again? Even when I’m not actively thinking about it, the worry is there beneath my skin, keeping me from being able to get anything done.
It doesn’t help that it’s been dark and gloomy out every day. And to top things off, I saw on Facebook that a dear ex co-worker had died. I couldn’t find any details, but Ann had battled cancer for years. Ann had been a few years younger than my mother, and one of the best people I knew. She was head registrar at the museum, which meant she oversaw the comings and goings and storage of the artwork. She was funny, kind, and smart, and had very little tolerance for bullshit. For years I would have lunch with her and the other registrars in the break room. Those lunches are some of my favorite memories of the museum. I only saw Ann a few times since she retired, and now of course I wish I would have made more of an effort to keep in touch.
But I didn’t, and she’s gone, and there’s nothing to do but feel sad about it.
In the meantime the internet keeps showing me ads for cars (I don’t drive) and computer games (I don’t play). I would prefer the vapid looks of AI camgirls rather than promises of rugged four wheel drive and 18 hole simulators.
My sessions in the chamber go fine all week. I watch Synecdoche NY, Lonesome Jim, The Man Who Wasn’t There. Miserable men trying and failing to connect to other humans. KC is on vacation so there’s no one to flirt with. There’s a new patient in the middle tube who is young and pretty, but she talks a lot about her husband and small children.
After Friday’s session, they tell me not to come in Monday, that the office is closed for Memorial Day. I’m not looking forward to having an extra day of isolation.
After my session I go home and make lunch, but instead of allowing myself to collapse like I have all week, I propel myself out the door. I ride the streetcar to Goodwill, then to Tanner Creek Park. It’s an odd little city park with only a few small trees but lots of native plants and wildflowers. I talk to my mother then finally head home. I read a while then head down to the Goose to try to cheer myself up with a chowder and a martini. It sort of works.
It’s nearly ten by the time I trudge back up the hill. I hear fireworks in the distance but I can’t see any. Up in my apartment, I stare out at the city skyline. Above the buildings I can just about make out the uppermost tips of the tentacles of light, briefly flashing against the clouds then vanishing as if they had never been there.
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