When I consider this, in the light of day, I think about the book, My Lobotomy. It really is a "must read", even if your brain is doing just fine. And the moral that I'm taking away from the memoir today is that he wrote a book, even after someone jammed ice picks into his brainses. So this is probably no big deal. But my brain is frying itself.
It's happened rarely before, but last night my brain sent a jolt of lightning through itself which caused me searing pain, tingling (like my big sister made me grab the electric fence again kind of tingling), a massive headache (which I still have today) and utter exhaustion. So this morning, I decide to be a responsible adult, and call the doctor's office.
Receptionist: Your doctor is not in until tomorrow. Can I leave her a message?
Me: Yup. My brain is trying to kill me.
Rec.: [Pause] Is it talking to you?
Me: No. Yes. I don't know. How do you tell? Aren't you your own brain?
Rec.: I suppose so. Are you trying to tell me that you're trying to kill yourself?
Me: I guess so then. Oh! Well, no. Not like that.
Rec.: Then like what?
Me: Well, I wouldn't slit my wrists, if that's what you mean?
Rec.: Where are you?
Me: I'm home.
Rec.: Hang on. I'm going to send someone to help you.
Me: Do you have a neurologist that makes house calls? This is so confusing.
[Muttering and shuffling on the other end of the line]
[The PA comes on]
PA: Alessandra?
Me: Yup.
PA: Quit freaking out the new girl.
Me: What?!? She's freaking me out!!!
PA: What's wrong?
Me: My brain's electrocuting me.
PA: Oh, it's probably just partial simple seizures.
Me: WHAT?!? Wait. You're not a doctor.
PA: Now you know what the receptionist feels like.
Me: Fair enough.
PA: But seriously, it could be partial simple seizures.
Me: Well, that doesn't sound good.
PA: Yeah. We should probably check that out.
After I thought about it some more, I realized that I think about being dead at least twice by lunch time. Not really killing myself, but just being dead. It would be easier. I wouldn't be in pain. I'd insist on a pretty bitchin' funeral. Have I mentioned that I wouldn't be in pain? And theoretically, it seems reasonable. Then I start thinking about other things. Like breezes. I'd miss breezes. And sunshine. And flowers. And autumn. And christmas. And my ridiculous family. And my nephew. But I don't even remember what it feels like to be pain free. Or even pain less. But I'd never get to eat chocolate again. Or squish sand in my toes. Or hug puppies. Plus Marge would poop on the floor for all eternity, if I left her. She'd probably even ghost poop on stuff. How do you even clean up ghost poop? Maybe ghost poop is just a whiff of poop air that you can't find the source of (I hate it when that happens). Plus, I think it's really rude when people leave their bodies lying around for people that they care about to find. I don't think there is anyone I could wish that on. Lice. I could wish lice on a few people. Oh. If I was dead, I couldn't wish lice on anyone. And that would be a shame. Also sledding. If you ghost sled, it takes away the death defying element of the whole endeavor that makes it worthwhile.
Anyway, you see my point.
And as my Dad would say, "You're a weird kid". And I'm all yours. You're welcome.
