I never expected to stand in front of the window,
hands in the pockets of my cardigan,
muttering some fancy acronym for pain
in a specific part of my body,
and that getting older would be so mundane.
Yet, I have to survive this unseasonably cold June
and myself.
If there’s anything more tedious than a naked body, it’s a documentary about showing it off, and yet here I am, watching one, or at least trying to. But as I wrote the opening sentence, I gave up on the film and decided to read a little about the perception of and attitude towards the body in antiquity, and more specifically in ancient Greece and Rome, instead. I found an interesting series of articles on the subject titled The Body as an Idea in Ancient Greece 101 by Eugenia Ivanova, and I’m already halfway through, but it’s getting late, so I will finish it tomorrow. It’s time to take my naked body to the shower and to bed.
My body is slowly falling apart, and with it, everything else.
Nothing major quite yet, though; more like a foretaste found in the gallows
humour so typical of my native folk wisdom: When you are over forty
and you wake up in the morning with no pain, you are dead already.
But life is peachy, of course, because whether I thrive for or in spite of you,
I still need you, even if only for whatever the next folie à plusieurs would be.
After all, we are all in this bedlam together.
hidden pilcrow 