Published June 30, 2015 by Iphis of Scyros

I’m not sure my head is still attached.

Or if it is, it may not still be functioning.

I hate this medication.

It isn’t even working.

My arm still feels like it’s on fire.

But they always say stuff like this may take weeks or months to show any effect.  So I have to stick with it “and see.”  Meanwhile my head feels light and wobbly for a while and then it feels so heavy and bloated that I feel like one of my dolls, and then I start talking gibberish.

My brother called me a little after lunch time–not that I’d started making my lunch yet–and I couldn’t talk ’cause I was working on my laundry.  When I remembered I had to call him back, about an hour and a half later, I was thinking “okay, what’s his phone number?” and started repeating a number to myself, but suddenly realized that it wasn’t his phone number:  it was my social security number.  (I don’t want to think about what would have happened if I’d dialed it!)  Then I called, and he wasn’t there, and I got the answering machine, and most of the message I left was silence, interrupted by “Oh…uh…yeah….I was just…um…I forgot…uh….to call you back…?”

Meanwhile, I’m still trying to pretend I’m capable of, you know, sentient thought.  I keep thinking about “what myth am I gonna do this week?” and “how much longer is it gonna take me to read this book, ’cause I wanna read that other book, too!” and  trying to think about how to re-write my books and write these other books and all this stuff, as if I was actually capable of any of it.

I live in a state of perpetual denial, apparently.

And I didn’t even notice the weird color of the sunlight until it was pointed out to me.  There’s just something wrong with me, above and beyond the arm and the medication that’s failing to fix it.


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