I Can't Find Myself Which Way Round

I'm coming to the edge of the widest canyon
My companion's dear
I'm starting to question my manifest destiny
My claim to this frontier
I'm coming to the brink of a great disaster
End just has to be near
The earth spins faster, whistles right past you
Whispers death in your ear
Don't pretend you can't hear
Don't pretend you can't hear

-from Manifest by Andrew Bird

The morning brings with it another day of excruciating and unremitting pain for Jenny.  The pain meds take forever to work, if they work at all. The pain, a phantom that moves around her lower extremities, is likely from her tumor. Referred pain, pain caused in one part of the body that shows up elsewhere, isn't uncommon.  She is so miserable, I just want to solve this, so she can be comfortable. Jenny has commonly, like today, awakened from pain in the dark hours,  and gone to the kitchen seeking pain relief.  This early morning that didn't work, so she arose again in the light, just after 6, to get more meds. I comforted her for a few minutes, as she came and sat beside me on the couch. Moaning, and hunched over as she returned to her room, she reminded me of her mother at 80 Fuck this disease.

Jenny can't sit still.  I've written about this before.  Today, she has a bike ride in Everett with two friends,

and then in the afternoon, she is supposed to go stay with her bff in Olympia, where she intends to spend the night.  She is super insistent about it, despite complaining that she is spread too thin and has this terrible pain.  I suggested in agreement that this was a bad idea.  She would lie to me, as she has done dozens of times before.  Even now.  She once asked permission of me to spend the night with el pinché  some months ago.  I told her I am not her father, and that she is a grown woman able to make her own decisions.  And she is confused, even now, about why I sleep on the couch.  .  .

The hardest part, okay not the hardest part but a hard part,  is not knowing and being suspicious all the time.

This juxtaposition of loyalty and betrayal.  Flummoxed. I am flummoxed, in a riptide, pulled in two directions at once. 

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