Monday, November 1, 2010

Postictal Stream of Consciousness

**I wrote this when I woke up with a BAAAD seizure hangover. The thought process isn't quite so languagey, but this is how it translates to words. The swearing is about accurate.*

Ohmigod, what is that sound? So loud, it hurts.

Oh. It's the cat purring.

Go 'way, blankets. Scratchy. Someone turn off the sun. My eyes, I'm gunna claw them outta my head.

Shitfuck. Moved. Ow to the 10th power. Head wants to split open. Brain too big, trying to expand, leaking outta my ears. S'wrong with my arm? Tingles. Huh.

So tiiiiiiired. Did I walk 'round the state in my sleep? No, sleepytired, drugged tired not exertion tired.

Why can't I talk? Damnandahalf. Phone ringing. "hng?" Gibberish comes through. "eh. feh." Click.

Water. Signing it makes it come, right? No? My hands swear again. Sleep? More sleep? Please? No. Have work.

What happened? S'11 AM. Think. Brain hurts. Big black memory hole. What'd I do yesterday? What's today? Oh. I always do the same thing yesterday.

Cast about through the cottonhead for details. Hadda coffee. Ok, 24 hours ago. Need more. Took a bus, OK 21 hours ago. Ummmm cream? 19 hours ago. Changed shirts....16 hours ago, Anything else? No? Just a headache? Just fatigue like climbing out of an ocean of tranquilizers?

Shower. Coffee. Can talk now. Dunwanna. Lurch around, foggy. Maybe ok tomorrow, maybe not.

Fuck seizures.

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