Don't Let Me Down

T.B. shrouds me, like this pear is shrouded and given dignity... Our friend, Tom Miller, painted that pear. He painted me too (see April 1, 2008).

I feel good until I have to move forward or go downstairs, but I fake it because T.B. cries whenever she thinks I'm in pain and that hurts more than moving forward. I'm pretty dreamy on Tramadol, and still hungry. I like going for drives and having the wind blow in my face while I'm snuggled in my bed in the car. Walking is hard though. My difficulty walking is harder on T.B. I swear. It makes her so sad; while it only makes me sore. I think sore is less sorrowful than sad, but I can't be sure since I can't cry. I don't really understand what she is afraid of when I won't be here anymore. She has to learn to let go and stop being so sad. Alone can't be that bad, can it? I know she'll never love like this again, but that should make her happy, then she won't ever have to be this sad ever again ....

Mingus, the problem-solver

copyright 2008 Christine Saulnier, Mingusandthebitch