Twenty-Seven
More damn notes. I take them on my phone and find them a few days later. “Oh look, notes! I guess I can translate them to the computer now.
So Bettina’s admitted she stopped inviting me because I get sick and have to cancel. She doesn’t think what it means from my end for her to think I don’t need a social life anymore. But then, she’s never asked me what kind of social life would work for me.
A flexible one would work. A caring one would work. Not one where the whole damn friendship depended on me being able to do everything predictably. Turn up to dinner carrying a dish of my best cooking, and being awake and alert and amusing and not in any pain for a whole evening, and then not having to spend three days recovering.
I used to spend three days recovering, then I learned
