Three Simple Steps

I’m so lost I don’t even think I can write. Art started chemo again on Monday. Today, he gets five chemo drugs. I expect he will be in – I don’t even have a word to describe where he goes when his is loaded up with poison. No matter, he will be there for the next few days. I sit here on my couch unable to go out and buy a hard drive for our crashed computer. The steps would be as follows: Step 1. Go to Best Buy. Purchase hard drive with 120- 160 GB and that does not say “Serial APA” on it. Step 2. Drive said hard drive to Art’s school and deliver it to Jim, our computer savior. Jim will make it easy, he will walk into parking lot, take hard drive out of car and into his office. I will only need to see him. Step 3. Leave school and come home. Three steps, all of one hour of time, and yet I will need several cups of coffee and a hit of cocaine to get it done, none of which we have.

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.

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