I got my stitches out on Monday, later, at about 3pm I got incredibly irritable, anxious, buzzy. I picked up my prescription for Xanax after work and shoved one into my mouth. That stuff is sweet, sweet manna from heaven. Tuesday, same thing, 3pm and BZZT. Wednesday, what a surprise, same thing. I know it’s probably because of time proximity to the attack, but it doesn’t come with any conscious awareness. It is inside, a biological, animal reaction. Like peeing myself while it happened. I didn’t feel anything cut me, but I bet my body felt it. I do a little thank you song and dance to my body from my brain for keeping that little tidbit to itself during the event. Today I’ll just take some preemptive Xanax at 2:30 and cut the insanity off at the pass.
I wore the same sweater and socks today that I wore that day, and I put the new iPod in my bag. Sure I didn’t bring headphones or even charge it up or put any music on it, but I took it out of the house. I spent half of yesterday looking up biological response to stress in humans and other mammals because I want to observe whatever weird things I do, even if I can’t control them. The cut is healing fast and well, if I have a scar it won’t be one that anyone notices unless they’re looking for it. Soon I want someone to walk with me to the crime scene so I can look it over. A spot I have walked past countless times in the past. I can see it in my head now, and when I do it is a sunny walk home, an average day, a place as safe as any other sidewalk in the City. We’ll see if it seems so in person.
Every time you think you’re one up on the universe, you’re on top and living large, every time you think you know what you’re all about, the universe gotta throw one at you that you can’t get your head around so well.