Most of the time, I deal with ‘living’ as a ‘dying’ person quite well. Most of the time, I handle being sick okay. Most of the time. But there are days like today, days where I want to just get up, walk out of the house and LEAVE somewhere, by myself, without anyone else around me, and just drive for an hour or two with the music blaring until I have to stop and figure out where I am so I know how to get back.

I always came back. Always.

Eventually.

But now, I have to get dressed, find my clothes, find my shoes, get someone to move their car, argue with why I shouldn’t be able to go drive alone, know that it’s right that I shouldn’t drive alone–or drive at all, probably, and it doesn’t matter anyway, because by the time I even found my shoes, I’d be too exhausted to even bother going anywhere, much less getting clothes on and then oxygen tanks hooked up to cannulas, and then navigating whether I’m going to walk or wheelchair to the vehicle and and and… and just fuck it.

So I sit here in this chair typing to you guys and wishing desperately I could, sometimes, just for a short time, run away… I swear, I’ll come back–just let me go for a little while… just a little while.

Sigh.

But no.

Michy