Thursday, April 6, 2017

Another April

     I wrote the following yesterday when I was waiting for the Metro here in Springfield. The Blue Line was still delayed, so again, I wandered down to the end of the track to enjoy the sunshine and hear outdoors sounds instead of buzzing lights.
     I decided to write in my notebook to avoid wasting my cell phone battery. There were ideas pouncing through me as I rushed out the door earlier, but I hadn't had time to jot them down then.
     Although hours had passed since my morning seizure, I was still experiencing postictal bliss as I scribbled in purple ink, trying to recall the story I had started in my head more than four hours earlier.

April 5, 2017

It's 8:27, and I forgot to take my meds.
The seizure was at 7:24.
That's what usually happens.
First, the seizure and then, forgetting the meds.
It lasted 3 minutes, 14 seconds, give or take a few.

Yesterday, I didn't have one, but my ears kept going in and out.
Left, right, left.

As I go upstairs to take them, Freud whispers,
"Caught you, didn't I? You're slipping!"
Skinner orders me to keep track of my behavior.

There's another one, I can't quite remember at first.
Maslow? No.
Jung? Piaget?
Be serious.

I try to forget, but then It comes to me.

Milgram peers through from the other side
of the mirror, thinking I don't know
it works both ways.

His lips move,
enough for me to read them saying:

The eye contact,
So sudden he startles.
Maybe so, I reply.
But what does that make you?