Breastmilk

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Doing the Puyallup — for eternity…

When I first heard about breastmilk, I thought it was complete fiction.

How can the human body create food? It didn’t make sense. It actually sounded like an episode of “Lost,” which I never saw and only today learned led up to a finale about virtual reality. (Maybe I should binge-watch that series this Fourth of July weekend.)

I went for a walk in the woods today at twilight, listening to another YouTuber drone on about CERN and its scary anti-matter implications. I also thought about the complete fallacy of a human being producing milk (yes helpless to stop cancer), the crumbling perception of reality, the universe, and my place in it.

What the hell is happening? Is this the kind of disconnect my grandparents and parents experienced?

Maybe they didn’t have the resources to express what was going on with them. They certainly didn’t have the technology that we do now. They just had, post-menopause and senility.

I just want to eat a hamburger again without feeling sick to my stomach. I haven’t been able to stomach a burger, BBQ, spaghetti and meatballs, or much of anything lately without either feeling full or nauseous.

I’m dying, of course. But then we all are. The difference is, I’m becoming more acutely aware of my impending mortality and the pointlessness behind me, known as life.

As my next, accelerated colonoscopy approaches (July 17, 2017), all I can cling to is making it through the procedure relatively intact long enough to watch my son play soccer again at his first tournament. I’m so deathly afraid they’ll keep cutting away at my colon until there’s nothing left but a colostomy bag.

So, I prayed to G-d during my walk through the woods while listening to strangers talk about protons and dark holes, the hidden veil and demons: Please let me see my son play one more time, one more summer.

I also want very much for someone to talk to, for a bunch of someones to talk to. Hell, I’d love a weekly support group in my living room to talk conspiracy theories over seven-layer bean dip and copious amounts of tequila.

But it’s summer now. Everybody takes off for parts unknown with their nearest and dearest, enjoying as much down time as possible before school starts again in September. There’s no room for me.

I feel like I’m stuck on a Ferris Wheel with these trans-humans, waiting to hear “Carousel begins.”

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