Everybody asks how I am. (I just misspelled that "who I am." Freudian slip?) How do I know how I am? I am in a whirl, a muddle. I am spinning around, trying to keep upright. Most often I reply that "I've been better," which covers a multitude of sins. (It's also my inappropriate humour mechanism.) I'm trying to keep going. I'm trying not to just sit here in misery and wait for the misery to stop. Because it will be a long time before it stops. And nobody really cares about my misery except me, so what's the point of dwelling on that? They care about me paying the bills on time. Some of them care about me eating, or sleeping, or eating "right," whatever that might be. (No, thank you, I do *not* need oil of oregano. It wouldn't help. "It couldn' hoit!")
I am reminded of the time I moved to Kitimat for a teaching job. Five minutes after I got into town, people were asking how I liked Kitimat. How did I know? I hadn't been there long. I had no idea what it was like. So, in the same way, I don't know how I am. I am trying to figure that out, myself.
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