My life is floating … rolling … dancing.  I’m doing the new and renewing the old.  I’m writing. There are people in my corner cheering me on.  “You can do it, Bruce!”

If you’ve been reading my posts for the last ten days, you know what I mean when I say “Often I can’t finish the sentences in my head.”  My face sags sweetly.  I see the beauty of … everyone.

***

Then there was last night.  I woke up in the wee hours, nauseated.  I sat on the edge of the bed and belched, over and over again. Finally under the covers again, the “sick” word just left. I softened. And I was gone.

On waking, sadness came. The dream was vivid. It still is. I was a student. My classmates were milling around, speaking to each other. But no one looked at me. Every time I ventured into eyes, they were aimed somewhere else.

I walked from group to group, my hand pulling a suitcase. I was perpetually arriving. Or was it leaving? Certainly not in the middle of things.

I walked down a corridor. A ramp painted in raucous colours led me to another common area, full of life. Blues! Reds! Yellows! And kids laughing and bouncing. I was invisible in this world.

Enough of that youthful joy. Up the ramp again to my part of the school. Except it wasn’t mine.

I saw a girl I knew and walked up to her.

Hi, Bonnie!

Hello. (With a plastic smile) You’re … Bruce?

(Sigh)

***

Belonging … not belonging

Living … dying