.
I nearly collapsed while doing chores. I almost couldn't finish. I had to push, hard, to get them done. I really almost passed out. Nothing fancy, just filling a bucket with food, a small bucket, and taking a few waterers out. I can't be sure what is wrong. I haven't been this bad off in a long time.
It may just be medication beginning to do what it sometimes does. I almost thought it might be a blood sugar dive, but... not. It wasn't. So like it though. I would check my bp, but that would require finding the device. And, to be honest, I can't. I would like something to eat. That might help. I can't cook. Not sure about other options. They are being considered.
The neighbor had asked if I would help. I had, initially, thought I would. Just wanted to feed critters first. Started falling apart. Had to let him know that wasn't possible. I skipped painpills today. They might help, but who knows... they might be the problem, or part of it?
My mother called earlier. She has definitely decided the nursing home is where she will be from now on. I suspected this some time back. I suppose she is... just... finally deciding, for herself. No problems. I get it. There comes a time when all else is just done. It's her leg, mostly. Whether from nerve damage, ill connection through her back, or such, but her strength and such is just gone. There are other things, too, though.
No, after this last spell, I realized her choices were finished. I was just glad she hadn't broken a bone, or back, or else. Fortunate. More, I am simply pleased that she has decided this on her own. It isn't what she or I, possibly others, wanted. But it... looked to be the only way.
She still has people around, who can and do visit. She, now, is again allowed to leave the building, even grounds. She can go for a meal, if she can get a ride. And, her house is being kept for her. She wants furniture decided upon. I'm not sure what I can do for that. It's a long drive, would require hiring a towing vehicle... I... just... don't know.
I am, sort of, busy dying myself. Probably faster than she is. Now that she has a secure place to live, and more, she is in better shape to handle the future. No one will be breaking into her place, as they have been and as they do at my place. A danger all on it's own, as I fail. Hmm...
Anyway... I am hungry. Not sure I could eat if I found or cooked food. But I... really would like to figure out how to try to get food, give a shot at eating. Ugh... Maybe. Later, or good night.
"I am, sort of, busy dying myself."
ReplyDeleteWe're all dying at our own speed. Sometimes I try to remember what it must have been like in those days when I thought I was immortal and would always be here.
(Continued)
ReplyDeleteOr perhaps this is why I write. As the medieval poet Robert Wace commented:
"All things to nothingness descend,
Grow old and die and meet their end,
Man dies, iron rusts, wood goes decayed,
Flowers fall, walls crumble, roses fade …
Nor long shall any name resound
Beyond the grave, unless 't be found
In some clerk's book, it is the pen
Gives immortality to men."
Immortal? I just thought there were only two states. I didn't realize all the gradations between the two. Though, to, as with you, at once, I didn't think about the other state... at all. I'm not sure if that was better or worse though. Was it really brave, some of what I did? Or was that just a lack of understanding?
ReplyDeleteAs difficult as being young can be, and yes, it can. Memory was little better when young than it is now, for example. And the more full it was, or is, the less their was to think about, young or old... I mean, when everything is a borrowed memory, whether poetry, prose, professional, or technical, much else of the world flowed around those memories than were developed on the fly. And we could be hurt. Were. I hurt myself all the time, far more than I even can now. It's just that I healed, even from rather terrible wounds and damages easily and quickly. I have forgotten more damage than some people can survive. Was that worse, or better? I... question these things now.
As to being remembered? The best of men will not be remembered. I have finally surrendered to that. No, I don't count myself among them, for I am not among them. I may have known such a man, or three. Though, too, I realize... being remembered, as a general rule, among men? It is not usually a good thing. It probably means you were terrible enough to get your way, and make some fiction an economic or military truth. There really aren't good guys. There are the truly vial, and then those who limit that. The best of them limit how much they take from those who craft. The worst destroy what is crafted, and those who make. And those, mostly, are who are remembered.
I don't think a whole lot of many poets and authors, though, either. Most of the classics were written by men who thought socialism could work, even communism. Ones who touched me, when young, I realize I am glad they didn't get to see what their wanted world would become, such as Tolstoy.
Though most would have been terrified with what their hoped corrections would bring... assuming they weren't shot, outright, for some perceived slight by the state they helped create. Even Einstein helped bring about the Nazi state, then fled it when he saw what he had done. Not a writer, but a thinker. They... don't think well. Probably a drug addict, via Freud, to boot. Not good men.
Was it you who suggested this? Or another?
ReplyDeletehttps://youtu.be/gdSzM3MHfOA
For good, probably, I don't fit. I did look into this. I did wonder. And, there are times, where there are... similarities. But all men, and maybe some women if that doesn't actually matter mostly regarding females, have moments of... oddness. But, no, I don't fit there.
You? If so, you may be seeing... yourself, not me, in some things. Or, how a similar take doesn't mean a similar nature. Or, an obverse, I think, sometimes. Never can tell. Depends on who is seeing, what they are looking at, and how they interpret what is being seen from their own particular nature. Many with some strange natures have odd relationships with me.
I think of it is as how zombies might see werewolves or vampires, or a cross. Just... as an example, if such things existed.
Not sure if that was you suggesting it, or another, possibly even one you know, strangely. But, again, the answer is no.