because you hadn’t spoken to another person for two consecutive days. FINE is what you say.
When I first started working for Bob, there was an older woman in the office, only a couple of months away from retirement.
She was often absent to care for her sister, who had ovarian cancer.
This older colleague would never mention the cancer, wouldn’t even say the word, and referred to the illness only in the most oblique terms.
I understand that this approach was considered quite usual back then.
These days, loneliness is the new cancer—a shameful, embarrassing thing, brought upon yourself in some obscure way.
A fearful, incurable thing, so horrifying that you dare not mention it;
other people don’t want to hear the word spoken aloud for fear that they might too be afflicted,
or that it might tempt fate into visiting a similar horror upon them.
I got onto all fours, shuffled forward like an old dog and pulled the curtains closed against the moon.
I fell back onto the covers and reached again for the bottle. I heard banging—bang bang bang—and a man shouting my name.
I was dreaming a charnel house scene of fire, blood and violence, and it took forever to make the transition from then to now,
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