When you’re a freelancer working from home, Sunday is just another workday. I’m using work to keep brooding at bay today, to banish the self-flagellating thoughts that hijacked my pain body as I lay awake for the hour or so before daybreak. I am unable to make things happen that I wish I could achieve. I am unable to make my cousin who is an addict stay at the assisted living home where she has been recovering from injuries inflicted by her partner, who for 30 years now has been abusive. We found her a place to live where he wouldn’t be able to get to her, a place with green lawns and trees, but she wants to go back him and denies he’s ever hit her, as if we are not to believe the evidence of our eyes and the ER doctors’ reports. I feel powerless to make her stay where she is safe, where she is getting nourishing meals and medical care. I imagine my Aunt Winnie looking down and weeping that we still have not managed to secure her child.
In more trivial news, I kind of love this chair.