It Again

As of Friday, this past, I hit the uphill climb

until my neck injections,

eleven days away.

It's tough.

The pain.
The cognitive dysfunction.
The fatigue.
Battling the shame and guilt and loss that comes

with the "it."

It's hard.

And even if I hadn't hit that hill, I still couldn't

coordinate a gathering,

like for Father's Day or a birthday or such.

I can't even commit to going to one, much less hosting one.

So...

that's just the way it is.
I feel like an absent mom and wife and friend

and maker of home.

An absent giver.

And, I am absent.
Those parts of me cannot function, like they once did.
It is another loss.

Wonder?
If I'd compile my thoughts, would any of them be deep enough

to stimulate food for thought?

But if I make them public, I'll probably be so self conscious

that I'll lose sleep.

Yet, if I would post them, maybe someone

could relate?

Maybe not.
Or would I just sound like a whiner?

Remember when you used to journal on paper, with a pen, in books,

in your first chronic illness life?

And you would wonder,

Why? Why am I doing this? What does it matter that I write all

these thoughts in these books?

And then your life changed.
Remember?

That could happen again, you know.