The Shattered Prayer

It’s 6am and I suppose the best I can hope for is a short nap. I’ve been up several times during the night to administer morphine.

Not to myself, it may surprise you to find.

Mom is no longer afraid of the stuff. I mean, her fear was unfounded and histrionic in the first place, but that’s what the war on drugs does.

That’s what I was thinking about, how perfect the light was, when I was driving to the hospital last night. It was behind me. The sun, not the hospital. It would’ve been kind of stupid of me to drive in the opposite direction of the hospital.

The other night Mojo and I went out to celebrate a friend’s birthday and while there I was talking to a woman who is a publisher for a local magazine. Our birthday friend was a personal trainer and conversation shifted to working out. In the course of the conversation shift, she told me she used to go to Overeaters Anonymous and it changed her life. That made me think about the one time I ever went to one of these “____ Anonymous” Groups. I didn’t have the same reaction as publisher woman.

Most of you know that its been a rough couple of weeks, but other than the whole peri-menopausal thing, you haven’t heard the whole story.
The past couple of weeks has been a stream of doctor’s appointments and tests, and that’s pretty much the outlook for the foreseeable future.