My wife says I am mourning my body's betraying me, and that's true. I've never thought of myself as someone who can shake things off easily, but I do think of myself as someone who can keep lumbering despite what holds him back. And I suppose that's also true. I'm still alive and can move all my limbs. Not everyone can claim that.
But what has bothered me is my illness. In addition to the stroke I've only recently discovered I had, I have been struck down by covid+19. Twice. There was about a week's reprieve between bouts, and while I don't think I'm as bad off as the first time--less congestion, greater ability to be active for short periods--I am tethered to my toilet and my bed. Diarrhea comes, especially in the morning, and leaves me feeling wasted for hours. I try to nap or at least rest for a few hours, but it's hard to pretend the sun is shining and the warmth convinces me I can do anything. I read, which is good.
But I'm always aware that I'm not well. I had wonderful plans to visit an organic farm and community in Tennessee. But the closer the time came, the less my body seemed prepared. Only yesterday, the day I planned to leave, I was unable to make it home while on a short walk. The urge--I can't even call it that, I didn't feel an urge, there was just the sudden feeling of letting go--came on so fast and quietly I had no time to slip off into the weeds.
It's hard to admit the jealousy I feel seeing and reading about other people doing the things I want to do. I know in the largeness of the world I'm fortunate not to have to survive. Enlightenment doesn't bestow any improvement in your character, it makes you painfully aware how much improvement you need to make. It doesn't make you less an asshole, it means you're aware how much an asshole you are.
To put it plainly, I'm currently a walking asshole.
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