Life is football (soccer for you Americans) nowadays. Three games a day. That’s not much. There are still plenty of hours in a day.
To sleep.
They say summer is here. I can see the green grass, violet lupines, and golden don’t-know-whats. It’s not snowing.
Good.
I do hate snow. You do remember it.
The spring came over nigth, stayed for a day and then there was summer. I sat inside, pain in my back, unable to walk. Heard how people marvelled the sudden summer.
I couldn’t care less. I just wanted to kill somebody.
My pain, for example.
Depression gave space to pain. Please, do come in, depression said. We have plenty of room in this vast emptiness of this creature which she calls her body and soul.
Together they had fun.
To kill the pain I went to the hospital and had an operation. I tried to tell the surgeon also to cut off my depression, but he thought I was hallucinating.
I was dead serious.
Now the hurt and ache are gone. Violet lupines start to dry away. My depression needs no watering. It’s a surviver, a fighter.
And summer. It rolls along like the football on green grasses way down south.
