waiting for the big one
It's been over twenty years since I've had an epileptic seizure. In the first half of my life, there were some spiteful bumblebees buzzing in my skull. My convulsions always came while snoozing, and people who were able to observe me asleep—from parents to siblings and finally to girlfriends—often told me how I'd thrash and sweat and howl. (I remember nothing of these night tremors.)
But now, there have been more than two decades of relative quietude on my brainscape.
And being the morbid, fatalistic, paranoid sack o' oatmeal and bitterness that I am, I stab myself with the fear that it's been TOO quiet. I dread that I'll get slammed with one Big Seizure that'll either kill me or render me a vegetable who poops in his pants and then sits in it.
You have a nice day, people.
