Bimbo in Limbo

I am going to start writing and hopefully the rest will come in a timely fashion. Like a soldier,  a robot, a clear cylinder. I feel too tired to write, too tired to read, television is exhausting and eating is a chore.  Whoa. Stop. Who wrote that?  Not the “me” that has fantasized in the past about orange cupcakes or pink coconut snowballs; not the “me” who has a huge collection of brownies and frosted cupcakes downstairs. Untouched. Some other me. Some patient me. Some released patient from the hospital me.  Some impatient patient me. I am dull, I am lifeless. Boring. Not at my best. I feel nothing; I am too tired to feel.

I need to sit down and concentrate in order to eat something. I need to look at the time and actually say, “it’s been five hours since I have eaten, I should get a bite to eat and something to drink. Who am I and how long will this last?  Did I leave part of myself in the hospital room? When will I come home? I did not eat for an entire two weeks because of my intense throat/ epiglottis pain.  All that suffering and misery and I only lost 3 pounds. There’s got to be something so wrong with that but it is true. Is it my thyroid tired and limping along? Post-menopausal, post 50-something, dead batteries?  Not that I really care. Not that I can do anything about it. It just is the way it is, for me. For now, for a while. Whatever.

I am not sick but I am not well, I am not happy nor am I sad. I am just a blob on the bed surrounded by too many blankets and dirty dishes. There’s a bright strawberry jello snack pack at my side and a cart full of different beverages, the jello is the only color in the room. I’m not thirsty but I’m supposed to drink so I don’t get dehydrated. Is  “dehydrated” the new buzz word used often in the last few years? We didn’t get dehydrated when we were kids, playing in the afternoon soon, in the heat, with no sunscreen or baseball caps. Where was dehydration then? Nothing makes sense to me.

The mail is still in the mailbox I haven’t bothered to go out to the street and get it. That would require putting more clothing on and shoes too. Shoes, why bother? It’s cold and wet and raining and everything is gray, not black or white just way too much gray. Everywhere. Endlessly. All rain, all the time. Rain and more rain.

I am The Wizard of Oz before the color kicks in, I am pre- munchkinland, post dead witch. I am flat, one-dimensional, white bread. I don’t listen to music with joy anymore because it hurts my head. I don’t dance for joy because I do not feel joyful. I lack affect.

I am in a state of in between but I don’t know the parameters of either side. Once I’ve fallen over the edge I will know that I have gone too far but for the time being, limbo is my life. I should care about this but I don’t. I should be surprised or concerned at this plastic shell but I am not. I am not shiny and new, I just don’t have the effort inside me to care right about now.

Eventually, something will happen, either good or bad. Until then, I wait, and I try to care but I don’t.

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