If I had more courage I’d exclaim on Facebook ‘Had a bath today, heyho’, ‘Spoke on the phone’, or ‘Walked up and down my garden path’ (it’s been a while) – great achievements in my book, and more than a multitude of M.E. sufferers (in silence) can manage. Such banalities, such profane deeds, fluff pinched off the fabric of life… But these lives are shrunk; each activity fragmented, a labor of finely calibrated movements and gestures. Contingency mostly, completion elusive.
This text too is piecemeal work, stitched together from words and notions, slivers of time, and the lightest of keyboard touches. It is intimate, bare bone stuff, and I question my motives. Writing here seems almost extravagant, my own (tired) kind of me me me. And a reality check: This is not how I see myself. A sort of patchwork selfie, if you will, snatched from the here and now, not the there and then (where I’d much rather be).