Unalive with Thought

i ask my left hand to do the grinding for me, though its a novice at most things it tries. both my hands have sustained injuries over the years, so it's more important that the two share the labor of my will. it feels awkward, wrong, uncoordinated.

"that's not how you do it," my right hand grabs the pestle back instinctively, but it will never recover the strength it once had.

i'm frustrated.

"i know it can be hard to accept help," my left hand grabs it again, and i slow down to be more intentional with my movements. it's midnight and i want to finish washing the dishes, washing the clothes, and shower before i go to bed, but i need to freeze the food so it lasts overnight. this has to be done first.

i'm in grief.

"but we need to accept our inabilities, and take the tenderness required to submit to them." i think of my daughter, my kitten who i'm chewing her food for. her tooth aches, and should be seen by a professional i can't afford. this is the least i can do to ease the pain, the pain i neglected for a while. actions and consequences for actions and their consequences. they spin in my head as i finally finish and place the small bowl in the freezer.

im in mourning