I still have a job, though I cannot list it on any form, or complete any surveys, it’s true. My job is to prop you up, so you can carry me, remind you to eat when you forget, know where you keep your medication, get used to living in your house by the grace of God, be thankful, go out early in the morning, get some bread, watch the city light up through the frost, birds circle, steal a little cheese. My job is to do the dishes late at night, annoy the neighbours with my taste in music, walk an apology. My job is to make up for myself. My job is to screw up, lie there bleeding, be forgiven. I’m not good at it, yet, but I’m getting better.
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