She’s the only one. So often, she’s my only reason for living. I watched Rent last night; the author, Jonathan Larsen, died the last day of rehearsal; but he left something behind something so worthwhile.
I don’t write anymore; and I’m happy to take the lion’s share of responsibility for that, but there’s still enough blame to go around. I am distracted by financial uncertainties; I NEVER know how much I have or where it is, much less how to access it. So, I’m denied life extending swimming/cardio therapy, and have been, for over a decade now. Every day, I’m so miserable that the thought of suicide is an hourly event.
Jaime keeps pulling me back from that edge, every hour on the hour. I don’t write anymore, haven’t for a while. No one cares. No one misses my unborn creations.
I don’t know about my decade-plus misery. Right now, I’m praying that, when Jaime goes , God will take me too.
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