deteriorating bodies and other celestial objects

i got out of the bath last night and couldn't bend over to dry my legs without wincing.

i don't remember the last time my back didn't ache so badly that walking feels like a chore.

my hands shake and wither. i am a writer. how am i supposed to create if i can't use my hands?

the arthritis gets worse. i push past the shaking to write anyway. i always have to push past the ache. 

the pain gets worse. i can no longer wear a bra. i paint my nails black and silver and the polish spills on the bedspread. my hand cramps around the pen. if i go out, i pay for it for a week. i'm never sober. i am mourning my body and my life fifty years too early.