Day three of recovery from round two of emergency eye surgery. The eye feels okay. The back and neck, not so much. Being positioned appropriately – face straight down as closely to full-time as possible for days on end – hurts quite a bit after a while.

Meanwhile, Anna is finishing up a few things, getting ready to go to hospital; she has to have surgery too, today, for cancer avoidance. This isn’t a surprise; it’s been planned a couple of months, unlike mine.

Hers will suck more than mine. Mine’s just injury, albeit old; hers is round five of tumour adventures, otherwise known as the worst kind of adventures. I can’t even be there, I have to stay home useless and in pain mostly face-down until at least Wednesday, with whatever happens being relayed out through someone else’s Facebook wall.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m thankful Dejah can do that, but I’ve had a lot of reasons to feel pretty upset and horrible about things which have happened over the last ten years, but this one is downright special. I can handle a lot of shit except helplessness and dependence. Those are, for me, the real mind-killers. They’ve always led to horrors in my experience, for real, and I’ve spent lots of my existence working hard to avoid any shread of either of them. But right now, here we are, innundated.

I should probably have something lighter and braver to say about all this, but right now honestly, I just don’t. Hopefully in a few hours, or tomorrow. But not right now.