We had a visit from the Hospice assessment nurse yesterday and according to her, he isn't close to dying. My accident of last week seems to have revived him. He hasn't lost weight and he can still dress himself.
I was angry and probably rude to her behind my mask because I'm so stressed and in spite of last weeks proof that lots of people care for me and love me, I'm still walking this fucking path by myself. And he still loves me and wants to care for me. After the nurse left I started sobbing with frustration. He came over to me and put his hand on me to show care and later in the afternoon he said, "There's no reason we can't move from Bend." He was doing this to cheer me, because he'd heard me yell about how I hate this fucking house. '
He has no idea how hard moving would be for him and how impossible that would be. But we were able to talk about cities he could live in -- "a college town." He loves Denver and Salt Lake City and we talked about that. Of course he repeated everything he said about four times. Nevertheless, it was good to hear him sounding aware and remembering the cities.
I really don't know how long I'm going to be able to stay sober from weed. The country has a pandemic and brewing civil war. My state is on fire.
I wish I had someone else living in the house with Will and me. Or I wish I had a lover who could drive my pulsing anxiety and anger from my head. Sigh.
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