A friend wrote and asked me how I was doing. What follows is my response. Anna May Wong appears courtesy of my fever dreams.
Kill me! Don't wait another day, just killllll meeee! This is not living. There is no quality of life here. Sleep is elusive. Concentration is minimal. Food is unpleasant or dull. Time is a snail. For all I know I'm going cold turkey from the meds, which I'm trying to eliminate. You don't even want a hint of what my digestive tract is up to. There is no succor in TV, I can't read for long, I can't do anything that requires two hands, and I stink. Tomorrow I'll shower and sign up for physical therapy. Maybe go see the baby. The rain and gloom aren't helping, either. I have to sleep on the couch and it's very noisy out there when it rains. This was not what I expected from retirement. The good news is that it will all go away eventually and I'll be my old self again, perhaps even better. But until then life sucks.
Thank you for asking.