so i turn on the computer and open my emails, with a clear intention of corresponding with a dear and true friend. before i have even hit compose my intention has crumbled. i don't know what to say. i imagine this loved one, her trials and her triumphs. i picture her sitting by her fire, reading my words, and i suddenly find that i cannot write them. i need to fill her in on what's been happening in my world, only i don't want to. i don't want to burden her. my reality casts such a long and dense shadow, and i have no wish for it to be cast over those that i love.
my world at present is populated with a changing cast of nurses, doctors and wardsmen; my language is peppered with pharmaceutical slang; my concerns are around side effects, risks and dangers; my vision filled with subcutaneous injections, venal infusions, reports and medical imaging.
at present i am living life either in a hospital room, in a car, or in brief, stolen moments of heightened domestic productivity when the opportunity arises. it's all as boring in the telling as it is absorbing in the living of it. and it's so hard to be living through that i actually really don't want to have keep reliving it in the telling.
so, the challenge is: how to remain connected to the world outside my head, if i am unable or unwilling to communicate with those who populate that world?
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