Redundant…

I’ve done nothing for so long now, I’m exhausted by it. My head echoes with my own loneliness, though the thought of other people exhausts me too; the complex, impersonal interactions of work have become a prison from which I don’t want to escape. They give me brief respite from my own suffering, of which flu – so commonplace and so misused a term- is an epitome.

Wellwishers have been few on the ground, those few keeping their distance with cheery notes on Facebook. I don’t blame them, since I’m toxic, even to myself; grey of face, rigid of limb, it feels as though another piece of me has died forever, but perhaps that’s how I feel every January, when the world goes into hibernation, and without feedback to ascertain my place in the world, I start to sink.

Sleep provides entertainment, when old faces revisit me, resolving old conflicts and clarifying unspoken meaning. The day has become like a waking nightmare relieved only by dreams. Is this then, a taste of old age, where pain becomes reality and life happens in one’s own head? I fear this is what there’s to look forward to and sink further.

Dragging myself out to walk the dog is the highlight of my day. No point making a meal out of it though, when I’ll be asleep again by 8. I dress for comfort, my hair barely washed, and pale cheeks signal to acquaintances to keep their distance. I was never any good at small talk anyway.

Bed calls me back – to lie with the pale sun on my face, where no one can judge me, not even myself. There I can rest till three, and enjoy these last few days picking up Ava from school. Soon she won’t need me either and my redundancy will be complete.