It’s 11am on a Monday. I have three missed work deadlines. They are self-imposed but still. What’s a business if I can’t meet my own deadlines? I’m a complete an utter failure when it comes to deadlines.
I text a “friend” about my newest, most serious, mind/time consuming illness. A person I haven’t spoken to/text/emailed/Facebooked or communicated with at all in almost two years. He didn’t respond. I knew he wouldn’t. Of course, I secretly hoped he would — but I knew in my heart he wouldn’t. I haven’t told anyone really, (except for my family and my nearest and dearest text girlfriendys) and I chose to tell him. Because in my mind I was thinking that if I could get the person I knew that cared the least about me to care at all, then somehow I would know how serious this go ’round of illness is. But he didn’t respond. Which means I’m going to be A-okay. See how that works?
My second thought is about the handful of people I know that have told me they hope I die. I wonder if people know when they wish death upon other people what sort of power it carries in their words. I wonder if it carries any power at all actually. Like it’s a nomination for Homecoming queen or something. I suppose if enough people send their ballots in, then something has GOT to happen, right?
Bring it on universe, I’m ready for you today. Deadlines and all.
More about my illness later. As a rule, I don’t disclose details about sickness until I know the full prognosis. I’m pretty sure we have enough to mull over with the heart disease, lupus, PVNS, and my next to newest, fibromyalgia. Hoorah.