I am all fuzzy-headed and dry-mouthed this morning. I think I should like to sleep although I am
not sleepy at all. I am thinking this is
the meds at work here. Of course it
is. This is also the limitations of
mortality at work here. The failings of
the body delight. Blocked off. Stunned.
Seduced by the warmth of the sun.
Sung to sleep by the buzzing of bees, my ears clogged shut by a rather
too high pollen count. Maybe a little
overwhelmed by promises I have made. I
just want to sleep. Didn’t I just say
I am home again.
Safe. Almost safe. I think I need another layer of curtains on
the windows. I could not see that
before, but it is clear to me now. And
heavier doors—perhaps I should consider air locks. There is the expense, but it is more convenient
than prying the boards loose from the doors every time I want to go out. But then, why go out. My head is heavy. The last time I went out I got a scratch on
my car, an ugly thing all the way down to the primer. I am not sure how it got there…Perhaps
Logan? A goodbye from an overly
I took pictures during my visit. I can review them in my mind. Looking at them, I realize I miss these
people terribly. A certain light is
trying to weep through my window shade.
I am thinking I should eat today.
I have been back now…three days? There was a kind of violence as if some human
bodies will spontaneously burst into flames.
My father sat in his recliner forgetting how to breathe. I had a seizure and my left hand forgot how
to type and how to pick up a cup of coffee properly. These are temporary inconveniences.
I fix two eggs for my breakfast this morning. I cannot find my way out of the fog. I will trick it later on and crawl out from
under it. It feels warm and mushy…as if I
could freeze it hard with something bright and cold and then shatter it with a
sudden movement. Of course those ideas can be illusory. They can fool you into doing very bad things
sometimes. The locusts are howling
inside my head again. It is a minor
annoyance. I put them back, deep in the
woods in Ohio in the summer near Kiser Lake.
I put them one by one on individual trees.
I had taken my butter to Ohio with me when I left two months
ago. I am surprised to find a half stick
to fry the eggs in. I am clipping locust
legs to tall trees around the mouth of Mosquito creek. Uncle Luther is on his knees there panning
for gold. He is paused in a slanting pillar
of sun. He has found more than he had
expected. Years later he will die in a
house trailer in Pennsylvania taking with him his secret of the gold in
I am not sure how to explain three o’clock in the
morning. It is when I woke up. It is when the fuzz cleared from the
seizure. It is when I remembered I had
not sent the corrections to my students from Friday. Three AM comes with problems. Do you take your meds? Do you eat breakfast? Do you take a nap in the afternoon or just
plow through the day hoping your cycle sorts itself out? This is when you realize that you have been
waking up earlier every morning for a while…that your “cycle” is about 22
This morning I had my second seizure this month. It was an ugly dark beast that came lifting
up out of the back of my head to swallow my brain. The EMT who arrived on the scene expertly
assured me that most people don’t know when they have seizures. It occurred to me confused as I was that
possibly she had never had one herself or perhaps they are things unique to
everyone. There is the aura. There is the dream state. There is the nausea and confusion. They said my blood sugar was ok. It felt like a seizure.
The seizure itself is an unpleasant thing. It leaves you
confused and drained for days and it leaves you vulnerable to the whims of other
confused people. Doctors for example. I will have to go see my doctor and give
myself up now. He will ask me some
irrelevant questions and refer me to a neurologist. The Neurologist will schedule me for a scan
and a week later will tell me the scan showed nothing. Then he will ask what seizure meds I am
taking. I’m not sure any of the meds I
am on now are real seizure meds.
Once the neurologist realizes he has found an active
epileptic running around not appropriately medicated he will start salivating
and reaching for his PDR while berating me for “going off” my meds. My explanation that I was taken off them by
another doctor because I developed a necrotic skin rash while he was dosing me
with another drug that set up an interaction that left me virtually allergic to
all such drugs will go unheard. We will
begin the name the drug and the allergic reaction game. I will lose because he will have some drug I
have never heard of.
The story will go on after they choose the new drug and
convince me to take it. They are
treating me for a “disease.” I have had this for a long time now, longer than
many of these doctors have been alive, and I have come to understand it is part
of how my body works, and it has its reasons for working this way. My body will develop a tolerance to this new
drug or an allergy or both within a month. The seizures will work out whatever
they are supposed to be working out and I will continue.
I’m scared. I said
that yesterday. I’ve been scared for a
while now. Not really sure what I am
afraid of, but it’s got me shaking I can tell you that much, shakin’,hidin’,
and lookin’ over my shoulder. What is it
I expect to see back there? Someone
following me? Watching me? Pushing off from the street corner as I am
about to touch the next curb and some relative safety? I don’t get it. It is not something behind me. No. It
is something in front of me. It is
somewhere I’m going. Something I am
about to face. Then I must know about it—Right?
I got my hair cut today.
It is another one of those things on the list of things to do on the way
back to sanity. It is a long list. I am a long way off course. Perhaps I should skip a few steps and step back
into the control house. Unfortunately if
things do not work out I could find myself in a third-world jail. You have got to get a solid underpinning for
your mind. That would be ok and would be helpful could I
understand them. Understand them getter? The keyboard is slipping off the desk
There are too many distractions. Whenever I start to do something, I am pulled
in other directions by irrelevant intrusions. Perhaps this is normal and it is the way things
are with most people finding it a challenge to finish even the simplest of
tasks. Perhaps I am unusual and my
threshold for interruptions is set too low.
Yet I have been told I have an uncanny ability to focus on things and
block out external stimuli. So where
does the truth lay? Maybe it varies
according to some variable such as blood sugar or the phase of the moon.
I catch the movement of a small ground squirrel up the
mulberry tree behind the retaining wall.
The leaves are small and light green.
It is that time of year; the woods are young and old simultaneously,
laying a new cycle down on top of the old.
There is a different kind of memory here. I too have a different kind of memory as my
daily list of things to do begins to morph and even the things on it that I
begin to ignore change. Oh, but I am
still struggling with the things that transcend these seasonal cycles.
There is a blue lantern kind of thing in my back yard. It has been there for several years and I can
only guess at how it got there. I can
only guess at what it is; hence I call it a lantern thing. It looks like a blue glass cylinder with
large brass fittings on either end. It
may be a humming bird feeder or some such.
I have never looked at it closely and have no idea if it contains anything. I may have even stepped over it without
picking it up to look at it more closely.
The writing feels strange and awkward without the
laptop. Well, it has felt strange and
awkward since the seizures. To be honest
typing has felt strange and awkward since then.
It has always been strange …well everything has been strange for a while
now and I am not sure but it is like I have been in a fog for a long time. I know I keep using the word…well the word “confused
keeps coming up. The word “clarity”
seems to be particularly meaningful to me.
There is something I cannot quite put my finger on here. Something not right.
There are days I think I would like to clarify what is
happening. But that is often more
difficult that it would seem. You can’t
just tie a string around it and then measure the distance it ranges and then
calculate the circumference of the sphere it describes and therefore the volume
and have that mean anything. Perhaps it
would mean something because you could record the volume from day to day and it
would change and then you could graph the change in volume from day to day or
merely the volume or the vector of the string…the velocity…
I have considered dialogue.
Dialogue requires someone else and there is a new difficulty here as
each other person seems to be involved in exactly the same or similar kind of
thing I am even though they are often not aware of it and if I create an awareness
of it then it causes some kind of fracture in the bubble that separates us…bubble
of uncertainty? I know I need to be
more specific here…More scientific. I am
so dull-headed. And with every
revolution I am met with a new version of the other person and the dialogue
In short, there are several reasons that dialogue is not feasible
although one would think it would be an economical short cut. It in fact is not. It is a ruse.
Nearly a cruel ruse. One must ask
whether the Universe is indeed cruel, because this would beg a hoard of
questions. At this point I am willing to
stipulate that the Universe is not cruel.
A large lovely rainbow trout leaps out of the sparkling stream dashing
down the side of the hill outside of my window.
Unaccountably the stream freezes to solid ground. The trout becomes a rock.
I can report what I see, what I feel, even what I suspect,
but we know that it is irrelevant to your own bubble. We know that first off that what you
understand of what you read will not be what I understood of what I have
written, unless I have intruded in the first place and fractured your bubble of
uncertainty and cancelled the dialogue.
The nature of pain is perhaps associated with fractured uncertainty. It is interesting that that pursuing some of
these ideas and their associations alone will produce seizure-like symptoms. A robin thrashes in the waterfall.
Lester looks in the plate There lying with the steak and his
confusion is clearly part of his tongue, neatly sawed in half. He can feel the blood gargling at the corner
of his mouth. This is a bad thing. He cannot go to the ER. That will mean the end of his freedom he
knows. This is a terrible mistake. But they could fix it. He is scared.
Filled with Anxiety, leaping up from the table into fog.That evening he
looks in the mirror. His shirt is soaked with dried blood. There
is nothing for it but the peroxide.
The air is moist. You
can tell. It hangs transparent and
velvet touching the sky. We sleep in
life and in death. One would think it
would be important to manage the time we had so that it were used as
efficiently as possible, so that we could have touched the moistness of the
sky. Check that off. So that we could have breathed the dust on
the back on a pony. Check that off. Yet in
death none of that matters. So it
seems. There must be something else that
matters. To sleep well? Because here we truly sleep.
I had to re-load my laptop.
The virus started the first of March by eating anti-virus programs and
graduated by the end of the month to eating browsers. By mid-April it was munching happily on Windows. It seemed to delight in annexing existing programs
for its own purposes. Windows firewall became come one, come
all. Windows updater became virus
replicator. I ran out of restore points
and my restore disks did not work. I
called HP and for thirty bucks they sent me out a set of disks to restore my
machine to store-bought new. What a
deal! Virus eliminated.
I had to cheat to get my word processor open. That is just one more thing I suppose I will
have to fix here. This being the one of
the places where I am allowed to fix things,
one of the smooth wooden cubbies laid out neatly before and around me
with tools and little projects, ideas, broken birds, and new colors about to
take flight. In one is a collection of
slightly used fairy wings. I was
thinking of sending them to my niece, but there is no telling what the trip
through the mail would do to them.
I haven’t had my nap yet today. As a result I’m not too far off my schedule
all things considered. Lately I have gotten into a habit of taking a nap almost
every day. It’s not a bad thing. Some
say a daily nap is good for you. But I
should learn to schedule the darn thing because it is sure to happen whether I
like it or no, and It puts a pretty big
hole in my day if I don’t plan for it That is the difference between an
interruption and a task. It is in the
It is later than I think it is. It always gets that way, the day squeezing
itself into a vice, chipping corners off its knees in the process, not even
taking time to open the jaws properly, just forcing itself in like some
blood-shot insulin crazed piece of greasy soft wood. The sun is coming down as I sit down to my
desk, coming through a dirty window right into my eyes and I know I am going to
wish I had closed that blind but that is when I realize the Snake is sitting
across the room from me.
How did she get in, I wonder, but not too long, but for any
woman to get herself a name like that in this town takes all kinds of deeds and
I am more interested in how I am going to get myself out but she has already
seen me seeing her and I go ahead and sit down with the sun in my eyes. Why had I not shut that blind? This is not going to go well. I cannot even make out the look on her face
as the sits there, a spot in the middle of the sun.
thinking maybe I will get up and go close that blind. I’ll just have to lean over her a
little. It makes me feel queasy exposing
my belly to her that way. I’m thinking
maybe I will get lucky and she will only want money but then I realize I don’t
have any money and won’t have any money until Wednesday. She will never believe me and that will just
make her mad. It’s not that she will
hurt me in any real way, well, not that anyone will see immediately… that sun
is burning holes in my retinas.
I had heard that she was in country on fake papers and that
she was actually under age. I think she
spread some of these rumors herself to terrify the guys over in Hartland. She pulled a booger out of her nose,
inspecting it like she would a potential business partner…at least that was
what I made out in the swimming sunspot.
Wiping her hand on the arm of my chair, she waved it and said, “Useless,” and unslouched herself from the chair and
strutted out of my office with the door snicking shut behind her. My door never snicks.
I’m sitting looking there where the Snake had been
sitting. The sun has dropped below the
window sill, but there are still those blotches in my eyes. There is a blotch on the leather where she
was sitting and I close my eyes and it will not go away. I think to go close that blind but I am dimly
aware that the sun has gone down now, that it is ok; that the Snake has left
and I do not have any new holes in my soul.
There are no curios on my desk, no graffiti on my walls.