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May 19, 2015 by unclespike218

Last Thursday…

I hung at home for awhile after work, had some good dinner, then…oh…thank the holy sweet gherkins that be, I went out to my car, sat in the driver’s seat, put the keys in the ignition, turned the car on, opened the garage door, slowly pulled my car out, closed the garage door, and drove to the local watering hole.

Let me repeat that. I DROVE. I allowed myself to drive a few hours before I perhaps should have, but I was safe. Three months seizure-free. And I played “In A Daydream” by the Freddie Jones Band to celebrate my prematurely-sprung freedom. It was GLORIOUS.

Last Friday…

I woke up, happy and relaxed after a great night at said watering hole, took a quick shower, hopped in my car again, put on some Belle and Sebastian to mirror the twee weather we had that day, and drove off to my hair appointment. A few minutes late, I strode in the door, sat right down in my seat, and proceeded to get my hair cut. After taking the clippers to my head and trimming the bottom half perfectly, my barber began to trim my bangs, and asked how short I wanted it. He looked at me, and I didn’t respond. I just kinda, oh, stared out the window to the side of his station, then slightly turned my head…


Strictly speaking, three months and barely four hours after my last seizure, I HAD ANOTHER ONE. When do these goddamned things end? I’m SICK of coming to, trying to piece together why I am where I am, why my brain isn’t working right, and why my tongue is chewed out. I’m sick of exorbitant ambulance and hospital bills, of bloody and painful IV needle sticks, of hours sitting listlessly in emergency rooms I’ll never get back. I’m sick of medications that fuck me over badly, that suck my will, my happiness, and my brain away like Dementors, or of others that don’t seem effective. And I’m sick of living far removed from so many other people and not being able to drive to get from point A to point B.

I want my life back.


Yesterday…

I went with Mr. Man and another couple to pick up my car from where it had been left by the barber shop. We all enjoyed a delicious American lunch of milkshakes and custom-made burgers beforehand. My burger rocked the world: beef, queso, poblano mayo, fried onions, and bacon on Texas toast. After lunch, Mr. Man and I drove home, mostly in silence.

Today…

A friend picked me up and drove me to the barber shop so I could finish my cut. The barber was very happy to see me and concerned about me. I apologized, we had a few laughs, he told me in as much detail as he could about what happened, I sat down, he finished my cut, and we thanked each other profusely. I tipped him the full price of a second haircut and two regular tips. So what if it was one haircut divided into two visits? It was also some unforeseen, urgent first aid and crisis management. He earned it.

Tomorrow…

…who knows? A better day, I hope, because this is getting awfully depressing. And for now, it’s…sigh…back onto a half dose of Keppra. Better safe than seizing.

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