I am not an easy man to be with. If I were to be fair to those around me, I would grace them with less of my presence. I smoke too much, I talk too much, and my hearing is weak. Social skills are not a strong suit. Emotions...mine or others...often confuse me and leave me silent, suspicious, tense, and unsure.
I can imitate normalcy for short periods of time. I watch ordinary people giving ordinary reactions, then mentally rehearse for situations that never seem to exactly arise. But I have learned to exchange pleasantries without receiving odd looks, and hold short conversations without discomfort.
▓ ▓ ▓
“What are you thinking about?”
“What?” Once again, I have failed.
She rolled her eyes. I saw it...she tried to hide it, but I saw it. She definitely rolled her eyes. Definitely. Then she saw that I saw and felt guilty about it. A little. But not that much. I don’t blame her...she spends half her speaking time repeating herself, and another good portion replying to some banality that popped into my head that I felt required an exposition of my opinions or ideas, after which I ask her opinion and then I carry on further with my opinions. As I implied earlier, I am quite the asshole.
“What are you thinking about?”
Great. Think of something...something...don’t say it...just keep quiet...don’t bark...don’t bite...something... something...ah, a turtle.
“Just looking at that turtle down there.”
She can tell. I’m tense, quiet. Definitely not thinking about some fuckin’ turtle on the bank of the fuckin’ Trinity River on the fuckin’ west side of fuckin’ Fort Worth, where I will fuckin’ die and rot if I don’t get the fuck outa here soon...very soon. Definitely not.
“What’re you thinkin’ ‘bout?” My language is lazy...I know. When I listen to myself I sound like a hick. I sometimes try to improve, but I quickly relapse.
I can feel a spell coming on. I don’t really know what they are, but they started a few years back. It’s like cotton starts filling my brain, making it more difficult to think. Sometimes there is a fleeting kind of sound that accompanies it...almost like amplifier feedback of the lower notes of a guitar. My vision gets just a little wonky, just for a second or two, and I feel just a little weak. It usually feels like I can “will” it away, and I do. But once I passed right out...in a lake. Face down. Fortunately Sally was right there, right beside me. Pulled my face out of the water, screaming for help. She said I was out for only about five seconds. But I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s my heart or brain or blood sugar or anxiety...the doctors can’t really find anything. I can generally pass it off without anyone even noticing. I call it a fugue.
“You’re just quiet. It’s a beautiful evening, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it’s nice. Real nice.” I light another cigarette. “You wanna walk down to the bridge and look at the water?”
“Yeah, that would be nice.” We walk to the water’s edge, sit, and I pull the container of coffee from my pack. We each sip, gaze at the water, peaceful, stand and return down the trail to the van. The fugue passes.
𝙱𝙳?𝚂𝙴𝚁
= new reply since forum marked as read