The yo-yo health of my elder muse continues.
A good, normal day for my 17-year old pup turned into a nausea-inducing evening of “very old.”
I love her good or bad and cherish every moment I have with her, but, still, this is very hard. My frayed parts are getting more tattered by the hour and, at some point, things are going to snap.
Of course, the snapping of a hermit’s nerves is rather a ho-hum event for all but the hermit. But being said-hermit, I’m allowed to dread that final ripping of mental cloth.
Keep your scissors nearby. There may be some nasty strands to snip off shortly.