Tuesday, August 6, 2019


My mother is 89 years old, and just now, she has a medical issue.  She has some doctor's appointments coming up.  There is nothing I can do for her but be with her.  That is all we can ever do, I guess.  Hence my anxiety.  It is about that and about my own well-being, too.  Last night, I took a Xanax to sleep.  It helped. . . for awhile.  But they wear off, and what are you to do, take another?

All my plans have changed.  There will be no late summer vacation trips, I think.  All the things put off will stay put off for another year.  If I'm lucky.

I shouldn't write when I am bummed.  Other people's troubles are not interesting.  Stoicism is good.  It is a form of toxic masculinity, I've read, but it is what is all we have sometimes.

That and some means of escape.  Like Houdini, though, the last escape is always a failure.

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