‘Everything’s Gone and Got a Little Bit Morrissey and Your Help would be Helpful Right Now’
Stroke
“Sure I’m still tired a week later. But that extreme fatigue, those sandpaper eyes, that disconnect of that new top down view of me, for now, now at least that’s abated. Sleep is wonder, a cure. When it’s disrupted there’s need for attention…”
“I better call the GP or do something. But I don’t, I write songs at 3am, letters to a God I don’t usually believe in all dressed up as spurned and burned love letters…”
“It’s only been month. And I know everything is always a month. I am beat. She is beat. And navigating this while I navigate me while I navigate her while she navigates him, thinking of myself seems an N’th degree selfish..”
“Yesterday I hit the hay hard. I was tired in a way that was everything…”
Maybe there’s a good time and place to fuck up, I was lucky to fuck up there and then. But there’s no luck in finding a good time to talk. Lesson learnt: Always open up sooner.
“That bucket holding the Christmas behind me, it’s a well of loved memories to draw from. And as I sit in the living room he sat in, with glasses on just like he wore, with his slippers that I’ve now named as mine… I’m a placeholder, same as his new living state…”
“So if nothing else was gained about choices or boxes or survival techniques (or the wisdom or healing power of either), there is always the power of Rik Mayall. In his two-fingered anarchy we trust…”
Rats on the Run 