I feel rubbed raw lately, nerve endings exposed and torn. It’s the kind of pain that makes me avoid the newspaper and television. When I’m tired I remember what worked: the dope, the drinks, the hospital.
“How’s your spiritual fitness?” She asks. And, “Go to a meeting. Help someone.” I will. I trust her. I will go tomorrow.
Right now I need to curl up around my child, let the heat of his skin sink into me, feel his heart beating so fast and close to the surface like a little bird. When I wake up I will walk the dog, go to the gym, have breakfast with my mom.
I’m not sure why it’s always worse at night and in the morning. Maybe the sunlight burns it up like mold. Maybe I just need to sit in the sun for a while.