Post Turkey Day. All is good.
Me? I'm okay. Dwindling still, but I hang in by daydreaming and nightdreaming what it was like to have full function. I can recall even the most minuscule sensations of touch and feel as if I still had them.
Fasculations have invaded my diaphragm. So far, its strength remains. My respiratory malfunction is centered on my throat, which wants to partially collapse when I inhale, really frightening on occasion. I'm convinced that ALS moves around my body in search of the path of least resistance, ever creating a chase, equipped with the fastest horse.
I've quit trying to achieve any semblance of health outside of reality. I feel like I look. I will cut my hair and trim my beard when I feel well enough to warrant a visual change brought about by my wife through proxy vanity. Don't misunderstand, I feel pretty good, all things considered, even well enough to care more about those around me than for myself, a significant hurdle for such a mental confusion as I am. See? I am a word loader, different from a word hoarder, the same as a camel with a hole in its hump, spewing the collective about with nary rhyme nor reason, sewing the ground with meaningless spittle, drowning the ants and diluting the natural fertilizer.
If you think that makes any sense, I reluctantly welcome you to my world, where nothing works but the mind. A fearful prospect is born where reality is overtaken by an overtly extrospective brain function akin to H. P. Lovecraft on crack, a collective of overabundant glutamate triggers pulled all at once with reckless abandon, even as I wheel myself in circles trying desperately to corral them from the masses of innocents and unbealegered souls.
I am a skull on a pike procured from Vlad. I am a dysentery to normality. I climb the crumbling quoins of established reason, constantly at odds, ever battered by the tunes of civility ripe with contradiction and vitriolic humor vexed by insecurity!
That's what I think, so.... Naaah!
your mind is remarkably good
ReplyDelete