Sheverb

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-- Gracie Logan

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10.19.07 - Home Alone

With everything that’s happened in the last couple months--the process of buying the dome, the cancelled trip to Atlantic City, the hospital, Key West fun, the tight deadlines at work, the closing, the moving, the several trips to Orlando to pick up my Mom from the airport, the more moving . . . I've found myself a bit over-extended. And it recently occurred to me the only time I have to myself is in my car, driving to work. Eighteen or so minutes, twice a day.

I so look forward to those minutes!

Sometimes I think, sometimes I sing, sometimes I listen to This American Life, or I let Fisher Stevens read to me from Christopher Moore’s A Dirty Job.

So, I experienced an intense dizzy spell this week at work after returning from lunch. The spinning and wooziness faded in and out for about forty minutes before I called it quits and asked sweet sweet Pablo to drive me home. I think part of it had to do with this inner ear/cold thing I’ve been fending off with Zicam for awhile, but I also believe I worked myself into a full-fledged panic attack. I knew if I could just be quiet and by myself for a little bit, at least the panic would subside.

It’s so disappointing. The panic I was totally free from for nearly four years has returned. It’s taken new form this time, but it’s the same old shit. Instead of sensibly fearing terrorists or embolisms or water-born pathogens, I now periodically and unexpectedly enjoy the thought I might lose huge chunks of my memory without warning. Sometimes it’s that I’ll suddenly forget who I am at work and wonder how I will explain my predicament to once familiar co-workers who are suddenly untrustworthy strangers. I desperately hope that during this time I have the common sense to look in my wallet for my name and address. And I sincerely contemplate placing a note in there with pertinent details about who I am and who to call should the sudden onset of total amnesia actually occur. Other times, the fear of memory loss changes to the fear I will lose all bodily functions and be unable to speak or read, yet remain entirely aware of everything else. How will I tell people what happened? Or that I understand what they are saying to me? Will I be able to blink Yes or No? Will they get what I'm doing? Odds are likely they will simply think I’ve gone insane and peed on myself. Again, the notion of a note left in my wallet for such an event comforts me.

Then, I simply fear I’ll just write the note for myself. I'm scared that doing it will confirm once and for all that I am, indeed, going crazy.

Anyway, Pablo brought me home, got me on the couch and gave me a glass of water. Within minutes of his returning to work, I was sound asleep and had several blissful and dreamless hours. Dreamless until I found myself half awake in that in between state--totally conscious, but unable to move. I know what sleep paralysis is, and it happens every time I nap in the afternoon.

I hate my body and how I am chained to it.

But now? Tonight I am alone! In the dome! I thought about it all day, the hours after 6pm stretching before me. I planned the wine I would drink, the dinner I would cook for myself, the music I would listen to. Honestly, it felt like I was planning a date with my very own self.

And I liked it.

Maybe I'll get lucky with me later.

I'm not unpacking, not cleaning, but instead, writing these very words from the dome, surrounded by woods and the autumnal, but decidedly eerie sounds of a marching band miles away, drums and horns and memories of high school fading in and out on the wind. The late afternoon sun is insisting on making its 93 million mile journey through space, a filmy layer of clouds, at least one thousand leaves, and a screened porch, just to land on my arms and legs and face and keyboard. Ouija is all hot and furry, pressed up against me, probably not caring one whit about this moment and instead thinking, “Good God, woman, when are you going to feed me?”

_______________________________

The History of Sheverb
(going on 10 years of pure dork)

4.01.07 - 8.05.07

12.11.04 - 03-30-07
(WordPress/Poker Years Will Be Back Soon)

7.13.99 - 11.22.04

_______________________________

I like mail (but not the Mexican Pharmacy kind):
gracie at sheverb dot com
_______________________________

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