9:11pm. Am not going to even speak to why I have not been writing.
Tonight, for the second night in a row, we are being inundated with termite drones looking for a queen. They get caught in any web (a great way to find webs in the house that have been overlooked), drown in any cup of anything, tickle their way around hairlines and exposed skin exposed to a reading light - so all lights remain off.
Yet it's a sad thing despite their fleeting annoyance, for save for a very few lucky few, they all die. Shed wings carpet the floor in gossamer, rust brown bodies are the food of spiders and ants. Their search for a mate and a new home is a death sentence.
R asked me what year it was today. What year do you think it is, I asked in return. Nineteen ninety...two...? Two thousand and seventeen I answered, my heart breaking.
How do people get through this?
And I was short tempered and impatient today. I apologized this afternoon for being so. His slide into dementia is not his fault. His loss of control is not his fault. His involuntary abdication of adulthood is not his fault.
I want to scream. IT;S NOT FAIR! But when has that made any difference? To the raped Rohingya woman sitting in mud in Bangladesh. To the homeless girl escaping an abusive stepfather. To the war razed children of Syria? To the greyhound being buried alive for not being fast enough. To the kitten tied to a lure for that greyhound to chase and tear apart. To the mother of the adult child who is mentally retarded? The list goes on. Who am I to complain? And to whom?
9:18pm
Life isn’t fair. Science claims it must, by necessity, be balanced, but there are times I doubt even that. Go ahead and complain, complain here, to whomever decides to read it because, as a wise woman once told me...you never know who might find it and how it might help them. For the record, I’m sorry that you and R. have to go through this. I feel your heartbreak and anger. And it’s trult not fair.
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