JANE

Jane Fonda opened in a new play called 33 Variations (I think) by Moises Kaufman (last night).
The play involves my undiagnosed terrible disease.

A friend who runs a nonprofit for cancer patients (she has had cancer)
knows of my situation. We friended on FACEBOOK.

She sent a message through FACEBOOK, NOT to see the play. To avoid it.

I messaged back a short - "thanks for the heads up!"

(And feel weird that she knows what's going on with me and she's afraid for me and
is taking steps to protect me)

I've never liked people stepping in,
but in this situation, I can't help it

The play is reviewed in the Times today.

I skim the review, and spot the words terminal, race with time, physical disintigration and rebuff it.
Instead I read one of the countless articles about how people with means aren't spending money, worsening
the recession/depression.

I can' t put away my dishes, shave and dress myself, go to work, figure out my taxes and rent,
get food to my stupid high-rise hanging over the Westside highway and then ignite a
terror about the tragic and predicted ending for people with a terrible disease.

I'm holding onto the idea that we're all individuals.

They don't know.
Moises Kaufman and Jane Fonda don't know.