I feel stretched. Thinned out, bendy, double backed. The weight of this disease and what it is doing, has done to Art, to us, deforming our vision of ourselves. It crushes from all sides, below me, to my sides and diagonally down on me. Moving feels optional.
I know this is where I need to be. I know that I am “processing,” moving through, working out my emotions. But it doesn’t make sitting here, staring at the blank T.V., any easier. I think I can find a number, call a friend and ask them to do it for me. Yes, I know I can.