A day to smoke in a pipe (German saying). So lightheaded, I cannot find my bearings and half expect to float up to the ceiling, feet first. I’d hang there, paper puppet, flutter in the breeze. Nippy!
How fast the year passed. Hard not to feel diminished. Regular front room commutes became too strenuous, and bed (in and on) my primary residence. I have carers, a support worker (whose tireless advocacy secured me care – communication with cash-strapped institutions is laborious), a befriender; am troubled by my needs and surprised they count. So many go without. A creative project is coming to fruition, under icy fingertips; words spoken months ago travel the air waves. Language unstraps me, occasionally. In the German tongue knees have throats. I wonder if that’s where speech moves when fatigue subsumes agency.