the things in June

When I developed adult chicken pox two weeks ago, I felt my world collapsing. My mucus membranes developed spots and my pain score was three. I was shivering. I had rigours. I was in tears.

I missed my mom, who saved my existence when I had the measles at eight (which ruined second grade for me). Here, with no mother and no friends, it's a vacuum of melancholia. I have my husband but he works and he'd rather be with his friends on the eve of his birthday. And do we really have friends in adulthood? Everybody has children or live far away. So I cried and forgot my paracetamol.

When my mom had a stroke in 1998 at 52, her friends visited but to help her with personal care? They considered it too intimate an undertaking for someone who's just a friend. It's the daughter or a sister that assist in carrying the load when we're sick, that is the norm. It all depends on one's relationship dynamics.

My husband and a colleague asked, why didn't I try to acquire chicken pox in childhood? I just didn't get it, people. The younger brothers had them but I was not inflicted. I could have a vaccine, but I wasn't organise enough to schedule an injection in the last decade. You're lucky if you had them when you were young, it means you didn't have to suffer.
Whilst I had to experience meanness from the hands of those with no souls.