Thirteen is the hardest thing to do. Numbers do not match they are all over the place they make me sick. Thirteen at the table is not unheard of. Look most people have incidents in their lives related to number thirteen. Not to my mother but number thirteen. No most people have incidents about your mother. She is there demanding from most people and the only people who stand in the way of her going into a home is when she is about to fall in hospital and then she can be carted off to the wards.
“Where she would die rather than live constantly?”
“She will be well cared for.”
God is cod and there is nothing to it but to fight all this. These are my words these are the feelings this is my lot. This is the lot of job these are the beastly thoughts of a beastly man with the attitude which speaks volumes. I am the book that no one will read because of him. I am to be tormented by too much labour for something I did not do but happened to come upon. Why me? For heaven’s sake why me? Why this endless waste of time? Why this growing fear why these thoughts of someone following someone there waiting to pounce something evil is happening to me I AM changing into a mere nobody. I have nothing to fear but losing everything. When there is nothing there will be nothing to lose then I can say what I have to what I must. There is something to do before than there is something to do afterwards there is nothing for it but to do it yet I fear.
There is something evil growing something about to erupt like something vicious at my heels waiting to be known. Some form of recognition is due that there is something waiting for the selfishness to come to the fore as if myself will try to stop my brain from forming conclusions and this ladylike fear like the histrionics or the hysterics of a society lady in her corsets. I feel like vomiting my spleen I fear to speak loudly in case someone answers from my thoughts what have I done? When there is nothing to do but speak when there is nothing to think about but to react with such speed and sight. I fear to lose it my sight you know more than my looks I fear to lose my sight.
I see nothing but this fear I am a ball of fear. I look outside it is growing dark and soon the malicious world would be at its element and the weather is dark and cold as if winter is here steeped in darkness as if the darkness is black with the lights flickering giving moments of illumination as if the stars have long gone and only the understudies will be there. There will be a skirmish and there will be a fight when nothing will be taken but my sight.
This numbing fear as if the numbness has not worn off as if my body has rebelled enough to Tom enough to all that. But the momentary weakness has passed and I am going to get up to be knocked into some shape then I will be walking with the dog my blind dog my little Susie who is nearly blind.
When there is no more time left to figure it out when there is nothing left but this and that to be discussed with the undertaker and the understudy has become the dropped bomb. I am giving an audition with the maker is he up to it? There must be a maker or is the fear I feel too obvious? I am oblivious to facts. First this man then woman and now this fear that I am going to lose something precious. I spit on him.
I make a detour go round and round in circles I am fighting nonsense things don’t happen like that there must be a logical explanation for all this? There must be a reason why this growing fear why these thoughts I’m not mad I’m I? There is something going on reasoning me out of this fear reason deserted me but there is something dodging my footsteps as if life is becoming extinct there must be logic to all this? Why is life being taken from me? I’m I being driven to suicide? I go into madness or into being a recluse? I’m I being not up to standard that I am being trimmed and edited and made into something else? Like a silk purse or stockings that have been laddered? Where do I stand? What will happen to me tonight or tomorrow night or the penultimate night? This is fright it is frightening being frightened witless I don’t like it.
The thugs are not going to give me the willies.
I am not afraid I will not fear the lord is my shepherd and I shall not want. They spoke I speak there is almost nothing more to say. It is this animal panic it has subsided the subsidence has been mended I can continue it is driving me into some sort of chaos I can’t think anymore the words come but there is no more thoughts except fear.