I'm getting old and I need something to rely on.

Dear Power Gods,

I would like some power.

Thanks,

Someone who likes light and refrigerated goods.

Today was a very long day. I lost feeling in my feet 3 times and felt minor explosions in my temporal lobe. It frightens me when I realize I understand the gibberish in my chemistry data book. It is worrysome that these are the only knees I'll ever get. It's nice to know I can fit into a locker, if all else fails. It was a relief to discover there is a farmers market less than ten minutes away. Maybe it's all a dream. It's probably all surreal. I had ganache today. Bite me, gluten.

"English, mother fucker! Do you speak it?!"

Sad thoughts plague my unsuspecting mind. That which sits dorment in the attic of my brain suddenly comes alive into dark spirits leading my thoughts into the metaphorical elephant graveyard. I don't want to think about dying elephants. I don't want to think about you dying somewhere you don't understand.

Once upon a time, there was a woman named Pauline. But he just called her Paul. He was Jim. He fell in love with Pauline somewhere between England and Canada. They had been married months short of 65 years. Paul fell ill. Jim picked up her baggage to carry with his own. Once strong knees began to buckle under the weight. Proud arms fell limp. Dignified shoulders curled in. Vertebrae collapsed. Spirit deflated like a carnival tent in fall.

Paul showed no improvement. Doctors came into the room, touched her forehead and shook their heads. They gave the same half hearted smile. Checked off the same boxes on their clipboards. Shrugged a similar mental shrug on the way out of room 315.

Someone sits in the corner of the room thinking frustrated thoughts. You give her morphine, then assess her "dementia." That's not dementia. You're talking to your drugs! Your drugs have dementia! Take your demented dementia drugs and leave! Frustrated thoughts become frustrated hands. Wringing and sweating and twirling hair.

Later that night Jim and the rest of the family meet to play some music. Frustrated hands go through the motions on a piano. Frustrated hands become frustrated legs. Why can't she be here? I could go get her. She loved this more than anyone. She should be here. I should get her. Why can't I get her? Music cures all disease. Not morphine. Music.

Frustration becomes useless.

A province away, Jim's family buys black. More in anticipation than anguish. Suits are being tailored, skirts steamed, blouses ironed and pearls laid out. Ready at a moments notice. An army ready to go overseas. A heat of runners in the blocks. A family braces at every phone call. We love her.

"Take me with you! Jim!"

Thorn on bloody rose. Fanged legless creature hidden in orchid bloom. Same idea.