Water, water, everywhere . . .

 Water, water, everywhere . . . 

I have a new regimen. Roz read somewhere that we can get dehydrated - we do get dehydrated - overnight. So, now, when we get into bed, we each put a full glass of water on our bedside table, and before we get out, we drink it. Mine sloshes uncomfortably around my stomach when I throw my feet over the edge of the mattress and put them on the floor. It sloshes around as I pull on a pair of pants and a t-shirt and slide my feet into my slippers. It sloshes around as I walk down the stairs to pour my morning one-cup of coffee. Which has lost its savor because there’s already too much sloshing around in my stomach, as in a bathtub without a drain.

     I eat a slice of toast, hoping to sop some of the wobbling fluid up; but it only swims around - more sinking than swimming - Sponge Island on the Bloat Sea.

 Edwin Hayes: Fishing Boats Off the Coast, in Choppy Seas, 1874

I told Dr. Feight yesterday that I was worried about Uncle Albert - he seemed “more and more out of it,” I said. “He needs to drink more,” Dr. Feight said.

05.15.18