Bits of Me are Falling Apart [antikvár]

Chapter 1I wake up, middle-aged and cranky, on an old mattress. Half of my life has gone. I piece the facts together. I'm on an old mattress because I'm sleeping in my office. I'm sleeping in my office because I always sleep in my office. I always sleep in my office because my office is my home. My office is my home because my relationship has broken up.My relationship has broken up because Because.I look at the sky. It is a terrifying pale sky with streaky clouds. I must have fallen asleep without closing the curtains. Looking around me, my gaze is followed, and sometimes overtaken, by a shoal of vitreous floaters, shadows cast on my retina by broken-off bits of my inner eye. Bits of me are falling apart. Bits of me are starting to return to a previous life, of being even smaller bits, and those bits, in turn, are preparing to break into smaller bits yet.It's a Billy day - a day I will see my son - which makes me both joyful and terrified, the joy of seeing my son tempered by my fear of what will happen when I see his mother. When I see her, the quality of my thinking, always variable, can collapse into a form of dementia I had, until recently, never known. And I just can't seem to think my v^ay out of the problem. Other middle-aged