The Fear

  

I have a moment of respite.  Mr. Fixit is not coming today.  It is an agitated respite, however, as the house is a war zone.  I am limited to a very few spaces in my home.  I have been sleeping in the single guest bed for a couple weeks and my back aches.  I will have to get a better mattress for it.  

I should probably not write today as I haven't a positive thought in my head.  I am going through several simultaneous "tragedies" alone.  I place the word tragedy in quotes, for I know its proper usage.  I am as tragic as Willy Loman.  Sitting alone in the evenings with my several plights, however, is laying me low.  This seems the culmination of a retirement year that hasn't had one good thing.  Or so it seems.  I know I overlook the obvious.  There has been some mundane goodness.  There is coffee in the morning and t.v. shows at night, etc.  But my nerves have been shredded and frayed.  I am prepared to submit myself to some doctor prescribed medication, though with my luck, I would be referred to counseling instead.  Everyone else gets Xanax and anti-depressants by the yard.  I have never had such luck.  

I need consoling, not counseling.  I need to narcotize away the fear.  Ultimately, I think, that is what it is.  Fear.  

Maybe we (I) never realized the truth that Mr. Thompson spoke of.  Perhaps it was a fear that drove his drug fueled madness.  Perhaps he was not brave at all.  Fear had made him insane.  

Or that could be me simply projecting.  

I will exercise today for the first time in a week.  I look forward to a long walk.  Nothing else.  Just that.  

I will order the Thanksgiving meal for my mother and myself today from Whole Foods.  Dinner for two--well, I'll probably make it for four.  You always want leftovers.  

My hands shake.  My body quivers.  It seems nothing will ever be good again.