Snow Labyrinth

Adam left for Pennsylvania an hour ago. His coworker, who has a car with four-wheel drive, came and got him, because nobody could get around our neighborhood without four-wheel drive.

I just came back from the first attempt to find the mailboxes, since there was no way we were getting there yesterday. The parking lot that contains my mailbox is a two-minute walk from my townhouse. It's a labyrinth out there. Can't do it. Not yet. Don't even know if it's worth it; there may just be a couple of thin envelopes in my mailbox.

The snow labyrinth is very pretty, but dangerous, and I am tempted to call myself Sarah for the day.

Walls of snow everywhere. Our tiny community is buried beyond recognition. This is insane. Our homeowners' association is not exactly productive at the best of times. As far as I know, only one plow has come through, and that plow is owned by a member of the HOA. The main street hasn't been plowed at all. People are digging and digging and there is no end in sight. The sun may be shining in full force, but it is well below freezing, and the snow is reflecting all that potential heat back up. No chance of the snow melting today, or tonight, or tomorrow, or I have no idea anymore. This is incomprehensible for Maryland.

Snow Labyrinth

Adam left for Pennsylvania an hour ago. His coworker, who has a car with four-wheel drive, came and got him, because nobody could get around our neighborhood without four-wheel drive.

I just came back from the first attempt to find the mailboxes, since there was no way we were getting there yesterday. The parking lot that contains my mailbox is a two-minute walk from my townhouse. It's a labyrinth out there. Can't do it. Not yet. Don't even know if it's worth it; there may just be a couple of thin envelopes in my mailbox.

The snow labyrinth is very pretty, but dangerous, and I am tempted to call myself Sarah for the day.

Walls of snow everywhere. Our tiny community is buried beyond recognition. This is insane. Our homeowners' association is not exactly productive at the best of times. As far as I know, only one plow has come through, and that plow is owned by a member of the HOA. The main street hasn't been plowed at all. People are digging and digging and there is no end in sight. The sun may be shining in full force, but it is well below freezing, and the snow is reflecting all that potential heat back up. No chance of the snow melting today, or tonight, or tomorrow, or I have no idea anymore. This is incomprehensible for Maryland.

Snow Labyrinth

Adam left for Pennsylvania an hour ago. His coworker, who has a car with four-wheel drive, came and got him, because nobody could get around our neighborhood without four-wheel drive.

I just came back from the first attempt to find the mailboxes, since there was no way we were getting there yesterday. The parking lot that contains my mailbox is a two-minute walk from my townhouse. It's a labyrinth out there. Can't do it. Not yet. Don't even know if it's worth it; there may just be a couple of thin envelopes in my mailbox.

The snow labyrinth is very pretty, but dangerous, and I am tempted to call myself Sarah for the day.

Walls of snow everywhere. Our tiny community is buried beyond recognition. This is insane. Our homeowners' association is not exactly productive at the best of times. As far as I know, only one plow has come through, and that plow is owned by a member of the HOA. The main street hasn't been plowed at all. People are digging and digging and there is no end in sight. The sun may be shining in full force, but it is well below freezing, and the snow is reflecting all that potential heat back up. No chance of the snow melting today, or tonight, or tomorrow, or I have no idea anymore. This is incomprehensible for Maryland.

Being Alice: Slipped Away

It started with tapping.
(When I was little, I had numerous motor tics.)
I realized that the first two fingers of my left hand were tapping against my lips with increasing speed and pressure. I lost sight of the laptop screen. I was staring out the window, into the absolute darkness. I slipped away.
(It's funny that the HBO movie about Temple Grandin was playing on the TV.)
My head turned left. I was staring at the clock, and I could see the television out of the corner of my eye. The clock read 10:25 and it was an eternity.
(Some children with spastic hemiplegic cerebral palsy become severely hypertonic when stressed.)
I realized that my left arm had curled up tightly against my breast, and my hand was in the classic claw shape, trembling on my shoulder. It was painful. But I couldn't move. I had slipped away. I was still thinking. I was still here. But I was elsewhere too.
The clock read 10:26, then suddenly sped up to 10:27, and then... I came back.

This is so difficult to describe. I feel as though you would have needed to be inside my head with me. Perhaps you could have told me what I had seen, because I don't remember.

I was an anthropologist on Mars, but the Mars was my own mind.
(I should find that book, anyway.)

I have never had a complex partial seizure quite as bizarre as this. I don't know what to make of it. I want to analyze it obsessively and compulsively, but I can barely remember where I was. I need to try to remember. But I wonder if that might put me straight into another seizure, a different one, a more frightening one. I don't think temporal lobe epilepsy works quite like that, but this is what research is for. Thank the gods for the internet.

I feel all over the place. I need to put myself back together. I need to both slow my brain down and speed it up so it's back to where it was.

My left wrist hurts now, and everything is spasming. It will stop. It is already starting to stop. As long as I breathe. Remember to breathe.

See, I'm fine.

Being Alice: Slipped Away

It started with tapping.
(When I was little, I had numerous motor tics.)
I realized that the first two fingers of my left hand were tapping against my lips with increasing speed and pressure. I lost sight of the laptop screen. I was staring out the window, into the absolute darkness. I slipped away.
(It's funny that the HBO movie about Temple Grandin was playing on the TV.)
My head turned left. I was staring at the clock, and I could see the television out of the corner of my eye. The clock read 10:25 and it was an eternity.
(Some children with spastic hemiplegic cerebral palsy become severely hypertonic when stressed.)
I realized that my left arm had curled up tightly against my breast, and my hand was in the classic claw shape, trembling on my shoulder. It was painful. But I couldn't move. I had slipped away. I was still thinking. I was still here. But I was elsewhere too.
The clock read 10:26, then suddenly sped up to 10:27, and then... I came back.

This is so difficult to describe. I feel as though you would have needed to be inside my head with me. Perhaps you could have told me what I had seen, because I don't remember.

I was an anthropologist on Mars, but the Mars was my own mind.
(I should find that book, anyway.)

I have never had a complex partial seizure quite as bizarre as this. I don't know what to make of it. I want to analyze it obsessively and compulsively, but I can barely remember where I was. I need to try to remember. But I wonder if that might put me straight into another seizure, a different one, a more frightening one. I don't think temporal lobe epilepsy works quite like that, but this is what research is for. Thank the gods for the internet.

I feel all over the place. I need to put myself back together. I need to both slow my brain down and speed it up so it's back to where it was.

My left wrist hurts now, and everything is spasming. It will stop. It is already starting to stop. As long as I breathe. Remember to breathe.

See, I'm fine.

Being Alice: Slipped Away

It started with tapping.
(When I was little, I had numerous motor tics.)
I realized that the first two fingers of my left hand were tapping against my lips with increasing speed and pressure. I lost sight of the laptop screen. I was staring out the window, into the absolute darkness. I slipped away.
(It's funny that the HBO movie about Temple Grandin was playing on the TV.)
My head turned left. I was staring at the clock, and I could see the television out of the corner of my eye. The clock read 10:25 and it was an eternity.
(Some children with spastic hemiplegic cerebral palsy become severely hypertonic when stressed.)
I realized that my left arm had curled up tightly against my breast, and my hand was in the classic claw shape, trembling on my shoulder. It was painful. But I couldn't move. I had slipped away. I was still thinking. I was still here. But I was elsewhere too.
The clock read 10:26, then suddenly sped up to 10:27, and then... I came back.

This is so difficult to describe. I feel as though you would have needed to be inside my head with me. Perhaps you could have told me what I had seen, because I don't remember.

I was an anthropologist on Mars, but the Mars was my own mind.
(I should find that book, anyway.)

I have never had a complex partial seizure quite as bizarre as this. I don't know what to make of it. I want to analyze it obsessively and compulsively, but I can barely remember where I was. I need to try to remember. But I wonder if that might put me straight into another seizure, a different one, a more frightening one. I don't think temporal lobe epilepsy works quite like that, but this is what research is for. Thank the gods for the internet.

I feel all over the place. I need to put myself back together. I need to both slow my brain down and speed it up so it's back to where it was.

My left wrist hurts now, and everything is spasming. It will stop. It is already starting to stop. As long as I breathe. Remember to breathe.

See, I'm fine.