Bored of hearing about it

I’m guilty of it, too.

The boredom with someone else’s maladies,

the endless litany of symptoms,

the constant whining and repetition of need.

It’s always something.

Not just for sniffles or aching muscles but

real scary, life-threatening shit.

I’ve stood at the sickbed of loved ones and wished

they would get better or die.

Anything to make the tedium end

for me.

And now it’s my turn.

I’m boring other people with my fear,

shoving it in their faces

when they half-ask how I’m doing.

It gets old.

But that’s the...