Saturday, December 18, 2021


Saturday was cold, but there was no precipitation until frozen Angel piss started floating down in the evening. I read all day.

Late in the day, a ‘cousin’ phoned. It was Brutal. I’m being done with trying to speak with friends. So, in the evening, I re-wrote my letter to Dr. Shoja; I have written out everything I want her to know and then asked her some questions.

To not obsess about my speech and how much absence of it is screwing my life. A friend, whom I love and respect, told me to shut up and write when we were on Zoom. He said what many might not want to say to me. He said it was too discomforting to see how hard it was for me to speak, and that he’d rather I write. Chat on Zoom or emails is the way to go. I know that for my friends, it’s better I only write.

You can say what you want about menopause, adapting to muteness is one fuck of an adjustment. My buddy Peter went blind just as he graduated from medical school at UBC. I watched him adapt. He knew his vision would never return. I will not accept my muteness as permanent for many, many months.

No snow stuck. It turned to rain—lots and lots and lots of rain, and it’s still raining. It’s too wet for walking much. It’s a day of short walks and long reads.

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