Seasons, senses & self: Day 11
I’m sorry I missed the boat. I didn’t turn up late because I didn’t care. I have a different sense of time. All my life, I’ve been shamed for not Getting Things Done. Which is depressing.
“Complex hidden dis/ability”. If I had cancer, people would make allowances. But my friend with leukaemia has more energy than me. If I was old, at least I’d have a bus pass. If I had Crohn’s, the consultant would take me seriously – severe IBS doesn’t interest him. Eateries don’t cater for me.
Woefully,
Gladys
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Dear Gladys,
Get over yourself.
Impatiently,
The World
Seasons, Senses & Self: a daily series
Notes
Some novels are composed entirely of back-and-forth fictional letters. Some people write a daily diary to an imaginary friend. Others write unsendable letters to friends who have died – or to people or institutions they are furious with. Imagining a reply to such letters can help the writer reach a different perspective. (In this case, though, Gladys would probably be furious with The World’s response, and would want to continue the correspondence.)
There’s another post tagged ‘Dis/ability’ here: Hey, where did my stamina go?) And there’s another kind of fictional dialogue in this post about Foolscap.