The way I feel right now, I don’t think I could be very good company to you Morrissey. The sensation in my chest is similar to anxiety, but it’s the mold infection deepening in my right lung, and it’s not conducive to feeling romantic. If you knocked on my door right now, I would gladly invite you in, but my passion would only be to usher you along to find someone else, because I’m done for. My body is a mess, my personality is affected by this, my mood, I mean. I don’t even know if I will bother to paint tonight, with the discomfort in my chest making me feel like I’m being punished for something I’m doing wrong, as if it were really just anxiety and the right attitude could alleviate it. If I could have you with me right now, I would want to have my end of life discussion with you, to tell you how I love you and want you to be with someone who is intact and can be responsive to you, as I can’t right now, and as time unravels, it gradually gets worse, in stops and starts. I might have a somewhat good day like I did recently after that horrible Sunday when I thought I might choke on my vomit while taking a bath, but the good days are getting less so, and less frequent, and right now, it feels like it’s time to say goodbye. I wouldn’t say no to seeing you and spending as good a quality of time together that we could muster up, so don’t get me wrong. I’m not pushing you away, but rather preparing you for what I feel is surely coming for me. Loads of discomfort and an inability to feel entranced due to the nature of that type of discomfort. I feel like I’m being tortured a little, inside my chest, and it makes me grumpy, not inspired, to paint, or to lie down with you. I can still feel love of you, but it’s, at the moment, a chaste desire to see you through to coming to terms with me being eaten alive by a mold infection that began in my right lung and will deepen and spread to other organs, including my brain. If you catch me on a good day, and if I can, I will be responsive to you, tempered by knowing I’m not of sound physical health, but if you catch me on the more and more frequent somewhat shitty days, it will be a farewell visit. You’re welcome to visit me as often as you like, in life and in death if I get a graveyard plot (I doubt I will.), but I want you to know that I don’t feel possessive of you and that I really love you and want you to be happy. Know that I really love you, though on a bad day, I can’t feel it, never mind express it. Right now I wouldn’t call it a bad day. Just, at the moment, there is some nagging and distracting discomfort in my chest, though I may try to paint despite it in an hour or two. I wish I could just ingest something to make the discomfort stop, like eating to satiate hunger or drinking to alleviate thirst, but a mold infection of the lung is a terrible thing. My doctor did say she would brainstorm to try to find a way to get me help to get on antifungal medication, but I know that even if I get on it, it ultimately won’t save me. I don’t know how effective it would be, and what side effects there would be, but I do know there is no cure. I’m beginning to feel better. I hope to enjoy painting tonight, and I hope to say goodbye in person, and it would be good to feel your touch at any rate, especially if I’m experiencing a good day, even while knowing I’m doomed. I wish I could stick around and feel relaxed and see and hear and feel you as you continue to mature. I would love to, but it’s not to be, unless a miracle happens. I really don’t think it will, in terms of me beating the mold infection, which I can’t even prove I have, never mind get treatment for it…and treatment won’t save my life. 5 years is the prognosis from what I understand, or I mean, the life expectancy, on antifungal medication. My passport is expired, so going the US for treatment on my dime is not possible, and I’m afraid of travelling on my own anyway. I don’t feel up to going through applying for another passport right now. If you come for me, and urge me to update my passport and go to the US for treatment, I’ll do it, if I can. The trolls will be all over this. Open the floodgates.