Wait, Where am I Again?


*Just kidding, guys: does any of us ever really know where our futures will lead?

Has disability been a fevered dream, or has my brain been now so warped that it has decided on its own in which mortal plane to dally? Do I have any remaining gullibility that lends itself to hoping I have actually walked in both – all! – these planets? Can I be so lucky as to have remit the symptoms that not long ago I was told to accept as normal while my life was chewed slowly from inside to pieces so small they could no longer be divined?

I lost my cognition, and nearly almost too my legs in the bed from which I sometimes could not move. The world always spun and I trained my body into successful accomodations for a 4-dimensional 3-dimensional existence. I accepted that I might never read another book.

Many of those things have largely ebbed now and I find myself stopping with them as though frenemies had been made with the foes and I am still calling kind farewells from the dock across a blank ocean. I am tired of reintroductions between other selves and feel it is my blessed entitlement at thirty-four to not have to deal with myself in this fashion anymore.

ill-just-wait-hereEntitlement is a distortion of veracity and I know better; there are still symptoms that remain steady or pop up are little haunts. My vision is still blurry and moves like like a poorly-animated .gif. There are times of occasional fatigue, and during walks the dizziness and slurring of words remain palpable.

But I am awake again and for the first time in years looking at the path I want to take in this world. I imagine I should know where I’m going.*

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