It’s Tuesday night and I’m crying. The office is on the first floor so I won’t disturb my Mum and that’s how I want it. I allow myself to feel the brine flow down my face and feel a certain satisfaction that I can actually produce tears like these. The breeze, humid and impregnated with the scent of the lilies she’s been planting for years in the front garden over powers even the swollen sinuses that came with the tears. I should go outside and see the super moon, an omen telling me yes, I am on the other side of any twilight zone and further beyond the outer limits. I am smack dab where I’m suppose to be and I feel that this is right.
And I’m playing Bejeweled Blitz. I can barely see it of course so I’m not playing well. At least as well as I play it. And I’m doing that thing I do when I don’t want to face reality. Procrastinate. I tell myself if I avoid a task that it will stop the inevitable from happening. It’s a game I play with myself. I know I’m losing. But damned if I’m going to go out gracefully. Like how I promised my Mother I’d help her with her summer clothes. Take them out, put them away, she has little energy and wanted that done. I couldn’t do it. I am the Queen of Disappointment. I know this. Can’t do that, can’t do this.
But you don’t know her. You missed something big. In a small package. She was a modern marvel and if you read fish journals you’d be able to find her. She was the first to breed Winter Flounder with Summer Flounder. “Oh,” you say, “Big deal.” Of course you don’t know the significance, you’re here reading this pathetic blog not science journals. Like most of the people for who the information she’s done experiments on and published, you have no clue the relevance and would even expect the government to cut funding for it. That’s neither here nor there. I’m just angry, being a scientist is harder than you think. It’s not all experiments and field work. You basically have to know how to write and balance budgets and deal with bureaucracy. There, much better, I’d rather be pissed off than depressed. I’m sorry. I know anyone reading this blog wouldn’t be in marine biology.

And she’s reduced to having me be her companion.

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