When I am tired, I can’t really function. Words get swapped around ( the English major in me wants you to know that this is called a “spoonerism”) and I’ll tell you I’m in the chicken instead if the kitchen… Which is sometimes funny, but mostly from the outside.
I was a pretty good public speaker once. I did slam poetry in college. I cannot do those things. I am a freelance editor and even my typing suffers.
It is depressing. Depression and epilepsy are innately linked, but I’m sure it’s more than brain activity- it’s the little things too. The loss of dignity. The no longer getting the stuffed satisfaction of standing on a stage in front of 200 or so, and making them all laugh. Teaching something. It’s a power trip. Now, it’s a struggle. I fear the words that cascade from my lips won’t be insightful, they will be a jumble. Argh!
If anyone needs me, I’ll be in the chicken.



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