I have no letters to my name, but sometimes I wonder if that ‘A’ will shift through its story levels until its tail climbs to its top. Sometimes I wonder if that man who sits across from me in the speaking place will notice the table vibrating with the taps of my toes, and then I will see a door instead of the table. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll be driving down the highway one day and follow that butterfly I see down the curb, forgetting about the blind spots in my mirrors. Sometimes I think that the CPR mask I forgot to pack won’t be in my hand when the kid chokes on the pork I didn’t cut properly. Sometimes I forget my watch is set nine minutes earlier than the clock on my phone. Sometimes I imagine a future where the wallet I left at home when I go to the store becomes the breathing creature I left in the back seat. Sometimes I wonder if those allergy meds I don’t take in the morning will transform. Sometimes I think I should put some letters to my name, sometimes I don’t. Because a paragraph can explain away a lot. Because sometimes I know it’s all in my head, and if I can’t see it it’s not real. Because as long as the sometimes are not all time, I wonder if I’m doing just fine.
Diagnosis
