I am not very good at saying no to people, or at being firm and direct with my patients at work. I am soft and mandible. I tend to let people take advantage of me.
My physical therapist says the people with the most problems with their hips and backs are the ones that can hardly bend at all or that can bend too much.
I am too flexible. So much so that it is hurting me. I fold and I fold and I fold in on myself like origami and I let people do whatever they want. I can't remember if I've always been this way or not.
Maybe it depends on how you look at it: The woman in the casket could either be sleeping or dead. She could either be a stranger or my mother. This could either be the bright, multi-color, kaleidoscopic shapes I see when I rub my eyes a bit too hard for a bit too long, or it could be the dull, grey morgue her body was wheeled down to after they tied the tag around her toe and zipped her into a white bag. This could either hurt a lot or a little. It depends on how much you let in. How willing you are to bend to the emotional blow. I could either stop writing about this or keep going, but it's been, what, nine years now, and I haven't been able to stop yet— only able to bend and bend and bend and