For the past couple weeks, whenever I get home from work (around midnight:30 or so) I smell cigarette smoke. I live on the fourth floor of our apartment building and my windows are open, so it totally makes sense that this smell could happen.
Jack smells nothing.
I have a better sense of smell than him anyways.
Last night though, I started smelling this cigarette smoke in my car. While I was driving. On the NEW JERSEY PARKWAY.
Jack's awake when I get home.
I tell him the story.
Jack: You should check on Web MD.
Me: No, it will just tell me I have cancer.
Jack: Well it could be a tumor.
Me: It's not a tumor.
Jack: Or a seizure disorder.
Me: I don't have a seizure disorder. Besides, my bipolar meds are also anti-convulsants.
We sleep.
I wake up.
I google "olfactory hallucinations"
More than likely I have a sinus infection (or an actual tumor).
Web MD?
Well when you search Web MD for "olfactory hallucinations" I don't get "sinus infection" or "seizure disorder."
I don't even get "tumor" or "cancer."
Nope.
I get this:
Brain Eating Amoeba
Yup.
So, I think I'll name my brain eating amoeba.
I'll call it Brian.
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Rage against the dying of the light
My Michee has died.
http://fuguesatori.bandcamp.com/
I've spend all day sitting at the jersey shore and at the beautiful ocean and I keep thinking of her and how she told me a few weeks ago she was going to write me a song to help heal me because I've been so sick for so long and my head keeps getting worse.
And I hadn't talked to her on the phone for a while and I thought about doing that. And now I can't.
And it was a wonderful day at the beach and I'm crying so hard and it's hard to talk about because the people who knew and loved her aren't in my life as much as they were before (if at all) and I just want to talk about my michee.
My wonderful beautiful michee. Who would listen to me. Who invited me to her wedding and loved me and him together and me and him apart and just loved. Whom I told that I would carry her child if she ever wanted to have kids.
I remember the Michelle clause we had in our relationship.
I remember when I was one of the first people she called after her mother died.
I remember her stories of her exes. I remember the love and the music and her beautiful words.
People my age are supposed to be having kids and getting married. Not dying. Not someone who loved as much as she did.
And how am I supposed to breathe?
I can spout a bunch of things about how I knew something was wrong. She was too quiet. Or that the random carrion birds I've been seeing should have warned me. Or the face that she's been in my dreams and thoughts lately along with others.
Or how I still feel her. Over my right shoulder. Whispering in my ear "It's okay my love. It's okay." Or feel her hand on my back and her tears mixing with mine.
http://fuguesatori.bandcamp.com/
I've spend all day sitting at the jersey shore and at the beautiful ocean and I keep thinking of her and how she told me a few weeks ago she was going to write me a song to help heal me because I've been so sick for so long and my head keeps getting worse.
And I hadn't talked to her on the phone for a while and I thought about doing that. And now I can't.
And it was a wonderful day at the beach and I'm crying so hard and it's hard to talk about because the people who knew and loved her aren't in my life as much as they were before (if at all) and I just want to talk about my michee.
My wonderful beautiful michee. Who would listen to me. Who invited me to her wedding and loved me and him together and me and him apart and just loved. Whom I told that I would carry her child if she ever wanted to have kids.
I remember the Michelle clause we had in our relationship.
I remember when I was one of the first people she called after her mother died.
I remember her stories of her exes. I remember the love and the music and her beautiful words.
People my age are supposed to be having kids and getting married. Not dying. Not someone who loved as much as she did.
And how am I supposed to breathe?
I can spout a bunch of things about how I knew something was wrong. She was too quiet. Or that the random carrion birds I've been seeing should have warned me. Or the face that she's been in my dreams and thoughts lately along with others.
Or how I still feel her. Over my right shoulder. Whispering in my ear "It's okay my love. It's okay." Or feel her hand on my back and her tears mixing with mine.
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Holes
How does one write about grief?
For me, grief is numbing. A hole in the heart and spirit.
I feel utterly alone, but at the same time, connected to the earth in a way I normally don't feel.
Dust to Dust. etc.
I go through the motions. Answer the phone. "Hello, hi, how are you?" Get people their books. Work. Smile. Cook dinner. Watch a movie.
But I'm a shell.
The inside of me is turmoil. Or, extreme calm. Unable to feel. Just a cold dead ocean.
In a way, I'm grieving for my father along with my aunt. Death bring up all the sludge that just sits at the bottom. Years of debris and sediment on top. Being ignored until another passing.
I'll miss my aunt. I miss her already. I missed her when I went to florida to see her and she was just skin and bones and pained smiles.
I'll miss the stories I'll never know about my father and her. About my family. The secrets and the reminiscing.
I'll miss feeling like someone in my family understands my particular brand of crazy. I'll miss talking to someone who was frank and treated me with so much love and told me the truths about things. How she dealt with being called bipolar. Her hurts and feelings. And how it runs in the family.
I never understand how I get back to normal after this. How the pain slowly stops. How everything stops reminding you of your loved one. How I can breathe and laugh and smile. I know it happens. It always does. But right now I'll take the sobbing and the numbness. And my lack of words for everything.
For me, grief is numbing. A hole in the heart and spirit.
I feel utterly alone, but at the same time, connected to the earth in a way I normally don't feel.
Dust to Dust. etc.
I go through the motions. Answer the phone. "Hello, hi, how are you?" Get people their books. Work. Smile. Cook dinner. Watch a movie.
But I'm a shell.
The inside of me is turmoil. Or, extreme calm. Unable to feel. Just a cold dead ocean.
In a way, I'm grieving for my father along with my aunt. Death bring up all the sludge that just sits at the bottom. Years of debris and sediment on top. Being ignored until another passing.
I'll miss my aunt. I miss her already. I missed her when I went to florida to see her and she was just skin and bones and pained smiles.
I'll miss the stories I'll never know about my father and her. About my family. The secrets and the reminiscing.
I'll miss feeling like someone in my family understands my particular brand of crazy. I'll miss talking to someone who was frank and treated me with so much love and told me the truths about things. How she dealt with being called bipolar. Her hurts and feelings. And how it runs in the family.
I never understand how I get back to normal after this. How the pain slowly stops. How everything stops reminding you of your loved one. How I can breathe and laugh and smile. I know it happens. It always does. But right now I'll take the sobbing and the numbness. And my lack of words for everything.
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