I walk Into The Room
I walk into the room, hoping someone will remember me. Not just as a "Hello. How are you? Now may I politely excuse myself to go talk to someone I prefer to spend time with" acquaintance, but as a "Hi! Gosh, it's been so long, but I'm so happy to see you. Sit down here with me and tell me what's been going on with you and let me tell you what's been going on with me so we can relate to each other" friend. I start thinking about who it is I relate to. I see a girl who's small, lovely, and a couple years younger. I don't relate. I'm large, attractive in a "Be glad something's not broken" way, but not in a "Wow. I know now what the true definition of beauty is" way.I'm standing in a room. I'm not alone. There are other people standing in this room. I hear them talking around me and sometimes one or two will glance my way while talking and it'll occur to me that they're trying to politely include me in their conversation. This is when I realize I have no clue what they're talking about and that I've probably been standing here like an idiot, staring at someone or something…or nothing at all. Probably scaring the bejeebers out of some poor, concerned soul who's been uninitiated into the Land of FibroFog.
I see a lovely girl and she smiles at me. It takes me a minute to remember her name and I no longer even feel guilty when I do remember that she's an old friend. My memory waxes and wanes. That's life…for me, anyway. I smile and am genuinely happy, though not for the reasons the others laughing around me probably think. I'm just glad I haven't stumbled over my shadow's toe or said something embarrassing that made no sense to anyone who's brain works properly and predictably. Memories of walking and suddenly realizing I was carrying the cup upside-down and that that's why my leg is wet surface and I smile wider, hoping to ward away the Stumble Demons who usually plague me when I most wish to present a sane, healthy front.
I now stand in a room. I'm alone in my small area. I'm that way by choice at the moment while I analyze the conversation I just had. It was about sickness. A lively, animated conversation about latest techniques for the person's condition that, while different, shares some similarities with my own…no doubt because Fibro likes to share symptoms with so many other progressive diseases. I was able to completely relate and share information, while not hogging the conversation, but genuinely adding a goodly amount of knowledge to this person while absorbing their own experience and teaching.
No one talks to me for longer than a minute or two about my occupation or about theirs. It must not be incredibly interesting. I listen to other conversations, enjoying the banter between normal people about normal lives and hope they don't mind me silently standing, observing their actions and envying their ability to think fast enough to make small chat. My brain only thinks that fast while spewing thoughts directly through my fingertips and onto the keyboard. Never through my mouth. I think the road from my brain to my mouth is obstructed by a huge Fibro-Detour sign, sending those thoughts to my mouth only after traveling along a twisted, heavily traffic-jammed path. Arrival time for decent thoughts is well after the conversation has moved on and they no longer apply.
Maybe someday this'll be better. For now, it's life.
Garnet Leiah Hyneman
Sunday, February 25, 2001 2:01:26 AM
Looking For Life
I Hate This
Abyss
Dark Possibility
I Walk Into The Room
Keep The Night
Laficofo Antisiqo
My Inner Forum
The Way of Things
