There's a terrible and sharp swelling under my floating ribs. The doctors can't make heads or tails of it. I lay quietly in my bedroom listening to the hum of the bedside fan, and the steady ring of a tiny Japanese windchime bell outside. Heavy drapes block off the outside world, but I close my eyes anyway, and lay very still in a nest of blankets and pillows. I'm younger than men decades my junior-- why does my body do this to me?
Faces crowd my brain, and I try to focus on them rather than the discomfort of breathing. I know I should meditate. I can't seem to force myself to get up. I feel bloated and rigid, like a dead whale washed ashore.
12:16 p.m. - 2016-09-12
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