I can't focus on work. I'm attributing this to the fact that its pretty much been a year now since I've had time off in the school sense. Remember those heady days of taking a week--two weeks--a month--off at a time? Yeah, I still do. I want to get me some of that again.
The restless part, the part about not sleep and weird dreams, comes from worry. It's always bad when I'm making casseroles, and here I go again, making another casserole.
What do you say in the face of a scary diagnosis? One that people don't understand? One that reveals a time bomb, silently ticking, creating more explosives from your own body to eventually blow you up with? I don't say anything. I make food.
Our friend is out of the hospital. The sudden illness, the strange symptoms all have a name and a face. There's goal, and a plan. But there is also an endgame, and it's not one anyone has any input into.
I wish we had pushed harder when he withdrew these past couple months. Vor and I kept saying, where is he? why won't he call? why won't he get breakfast with us anymore? yet we didn't push the issue. How do you, really? Especially when he has close family in town--if there was anything wrong, they would push the issue, right? We all stood around, waiting for someone to push the issue. Not that quicker action would have changed things, much. This diagnosis would still be there. But maybe other damage would not have been done.
Anyways. Instead of some forethought, or some prior action, there is now after-action, a casserole baking in my oven. I need to tend to that.
Just so you know where I've been. And just so you know where I'm going.