Suddenly, out of nowhere, your sickness becomes your power.
It’s what makes you great. Great because now you’re not just living/existing – no, you’re doing more than that, you’re overcoming. “In spite of.” Yup, you’re one resilient son of a bitch.
It becomes your talent. You forget everything else. Amnesia. You’re nothing else but this; this fight, this sob story, this crappy deal. This is who you are. There is no room for dreams – let’s just get through another day, shall we? All you should be passionate about is saving/lamenting/hating/healing your tin can body. This is your life now. Life is about preserving life. Living has nothing to do with it.
Blah blah blah, right? The human mind is fascinating, but mostly it’s bunk.
Most of my friends own a house or are scurrying around trying to buy one. Me? I am currently in the market for buying into myself. I’m on a mission to find my power source.
The janitor who works in my office building stopped to say hello: “Elena, right? You look different.” I smile at him. What more is there to say?