Contrary to the jokes I crack on the internet about being a double Taurus I am slow to anger and you’re not so much toeing the line as you have pole vaulted over it. I don’t want to rehash the one-sided conversation I’ve been having, I just want to point something out:
In January 2017 I had a stroke. I was bed-ridden for two months after. There’s a solid two years of that must have happened to someone else even though all the pictures are of me. Recovery was a graying string of medications that left me too weak to move.
But a friend I’d not seen since middle school brought their new spouse to play card games with me to re-teach me math and memory. A girl I’d met in a coffee shop who barely knew my name brought me flowers and books to read when the edema let up. My sorority sisters took me to plays when I could walk again and made sure I had food that suited my new dietary needs. My best friend in Denver made me call her every day to talk even when I dropped words because language itself was newly the Gordian knot I still grapple with.
Do you remember what you did, those grueling months after I crawled my way back from my date with Death?
You didn’t write, you didn’t call.
You didn’t bother to like the tweet I made about being bored at discharge.
If you try to tell anyone you did anything at all? You’re a liar.