Evidently it’s beginning now.
Not only has the death blow been dealt to this summer’s plans, whatever I may have conceived them to be, but the insomnia has returned with a vengeance. What’s more, sleeping on my left side, once the preferred position, is no longer possible without just-shy-of-excruciating pain. Seek medical assistance? Not in the budget.
I simply cannot function like this. I apparently don’t have the strength to fight these battles anymore. And if all I have to look forward to is more of the same, then the best I can hope for is not having to live through it.
If you’re thinking “Geez, is that all it takes to knock him for a loop?” the answer should be distressingly obvious. It appears that whatever emotional stability I had was faked up from a combination of desperation and pharmaceuticals.
And now — the truth comes out? Maybe. I’m not sure what the truth is anymore. Perhaps I never was. Right now, with my eyes watering and my mouth dry as the surface of Mars, it’s difficult to give much of a damn one way or another.
Which means that at some level, I’ve already conceded defeat; the rest is simply a matter of logistics.
The only question that remains is whether I’m worse off now than I was in 1999 — and whether it makes the slightest bit of difference one way or another.