JOURNAL ENTRY: 13 SEPTEMBER 2014, 6:30PM
Rebounded and flu yoga’d. Zappa’s such a needy baby. Now that this “game” is established of pawing for attention, it’s getting so a girl can’t meditate for five minutes during “legs on the wall” pose anymore. I know they need playtime but dammit, Mommy’s sick! Sick and sick and tired of being sick. I’ve had it up to here with disease. Pain, drugs, side effects, sickness. Ugh! And leaving the apartment’s not throwing on some clothes and grabbing my keys. No, I need to shower, moisturize, and not to smell flowery but ’cause RA skin itches like mad with dryness if I don’t. Then dressing, brushing my mouth and putting in teeth–all of which takes me twice as long with RA and getting winded (WINDED) from showering and drying off ’cause of this stomach flu. My lungs feel like I smoked a pack of cigarettes last night. Of course I didn’t, but I remember and it’s awful.
I eat well, meditate, practice yoga, walk, rebound, “jog,” and it’s not enough to combat this fucking RA and toxic drugs coursing through my body. A body I don’t want anymore. Small wonder no man does. I hate it. And this “flu” is probably Stage 4 cancer and I’ll die never knowing real love or being wanted, needed, or touched by a man again. I’ll never have what I want.
P.S. If you find yourself in such a wretched mood, it’s probably best not to start reading King Lear. Trust me.