2020-08-31 / 8:52 p.m.

I go to the sea to swim, but the tide is out and I walk for a distance into cold water that gets no deeper no matter how many steps I take. Little Sophie, four year old loses her fight with cancer. I learn my old dog is dying, but old doesn't make it easier. My body moves down a notch on the disability scale. I buy pens that are made for people like me. Ones that don't hurt as much to write with. A grip to hold my Nintendo Switch so that my too tiny hands have a fighting chance. I change the clothes that I wear, choosing soft and loose material that doesn't burn my skin. I do yoga every day. One hundred and eighteen days and counting. My hips hurt. My neck hurts. I worry about my spine. An old friend wonders if I'm avoiding her. Maybe I am. A wasp stings the sole of my foot and I end up in bed for a week. A bad reaction. My aunt asks me if I'll have children. I kindly explain that I can't. I wake up at 4:30am unable to sleep despite infinite tosses and turns. Despite throwing my legs over the covers. I stop driving to the coast altogether. I wonder if I'm depressed. I decide that I am.