I've shared this with several people over the past few days and it seems to grab root in my psyche with each different telling. I feel as if my recent foray into sickness has made me a different person. And I mean that literally. On this side of the heaves is someone altogether other from the on entering into it. It's hard to explain but all I can say is I feel as if my time on the couch and in bed ripped my personal past away from the present. And I miss what it feels like I've lost.
Maybe this is what I've needed to see the reality, or to borrow a phrase from Singleton, the weight of my existence. On that side was a life shared with others, of hanging out in that east Texas barn and knowing how good I had it, of sneaking away to afternoon movies with my closest friend and of laughter. On this side is nothing to write home about.
I'm walking straight and taking care of my newfound canine responsibility, but something is just plain missing.
Oh well, what are you going to do?