I’ve lost count.
Since yesterday, whenever I get up from the couch, the room spins. Fun when you are 19 and at a Fine House party (reference to where a number of guys in the Fine Arts lived, off campus), but not so much when you are 45, are trying to walk out of physical therapy, or trying to get from your car to the house, up a few stairs.
I’m okay, albeit fuzzy, while in a chair or sitting on the couch, but standing is nearly impossible. And emotions? Should we talk emotions or just stay in denial about the bubbling anger, the sadness, the loneliness that feels about as un-ending as that pipe in the Gulf spewing oil?
Yeah. Let’s just keep that under wraps for now. Once in awhile, I can contain myself.
Oh, and I took the 4th vial. The most vile? Yeah. So far. I have a feeling that there are worse vials to follow.