Confession: I don't always go straight to work. On days when I don't have a 9 o'clock meeting, I go to my local green-branded coffee shop, where The Barista knows what I want and gets it for me with a smile. I watch people passing through on their way to and from work or the gym.
I am struggling to remember that my role as carer does not make me a comprehensive mediator between my wife and the world.
When she's down, I need to be up. And when she's up, I want to be up. All this up is getting me down. I can't sustain the pace.
I think that my period of silence can be traced to a combination of intensely disturbing, if fleeting, episodes in the PSYWAR, rapid changes in my own moods and feelings, and a total absence of "me" time. Today I finally broke down and just wandered out of work for a couple of hours to experience idleness.
K is in pain, short of breath, and easily fatigued. Nevertheless, she has a 21st Century to-do list that only grows. Every entry is urgent, for obvious reasons. But is every entry important? That's in the eye of the beholder.
It's the rule:
There's no limit to how fucked you can be.