I might have slept five hours.
And there's pain behind my eyes.
For weeks now my saliva hasn't tasted right? What the fuck is that about? Life beyond fifty has become a cascade of physiological blowouts and slow-mo car crashes. I'm watching my disintegration, one ounce of dignity and comfort at a time.
Once upon a time, just before I turned forty, I swore I'd commit suicide on my fiftieth birthday. And I very nearly did. And now, I see I have missed that opportunity. It's not that I had a change of heart. It's just that I lack the resolve.
Yesterday was my kid sister's fiftieth birthday.
Today, this room is not where I need to be.
Note: Before anyone freaks out about anything I've written here, stop and take a breath. And remember, it's my job to tell the truth. The moment I stop, I'm worthless.