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I haven’t written anything in the last six whole days, and I also got several days behind with EMF. When I stared into the past week, all I could conjure up was just a few fragments, all bits and pieces, nothing coherent, which is just horrified.
My son has been at school, my husband has got better from his recent anxiety attack, and I haven’t started my radiotherapy yet---it’s been a month but there is still no any notice arrived, I gave the hospital a call but all I got was a loud rude answer: “Just wait!”
It should be a great time for me to learn, to read, to do something productive. But I let it go in a dumbing, muddling chaos.
My life right now is like a battlefield, if I didn’t try hard to grasp something, it was going to disappear little by little, turning into blurring, broken memories, mists from other days, until it is absorbed into oblivion.
If I didn’t try hard, I would soon lose my focus. I forget things, I catch myself repeating what I’ve just said, I stop to functionate. I lost the track of time. Yesterday when I submit my petition for advanced retirement, I actually thought September 7 should be on this Thursday.
My hands trembled when I signed my name. At that time, I actually felt the angel of death hovering for a moment in the shadow. This petition, whether it succeeds or not, hurled me headlong against the certainty: I can’t get my old life back.
And everything would be slipping by, like things I’ve already lost, my job, my health, my appearance, my identity. That’s why I am so obsessed with writing. It is a prove of my humble existence, the trace left from my fragile life.
Stop imagining, stop self-pity, focus, and just do something!
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