Expression, mainly, and for organizing our thoughts. And for committing experiences to memory.
There is something I'll want to say about my Aunt Liz, but I can't access it right now. In fact, I can't access much of anything within myself at all. A stomach pain. A stiff neck. A very sore jaw. And just, for a few seconds this evening after I hung up from talking to my cousin Spitfire, the faintest whiff of sadness that I know to be lurking beneath my otherwise wholly numb and empty inner being.
At some point, I'll stop this business where I keep telling myself that it didn't happen, that her death -- and the gut-wrenching conversation about it with my beloved Uncle Rick -- was just a bad dream, a fabrication of random neural firings from which I will presently awaken. But my rational side doesn't seem to making much headway in that regard.
In the meantime, here is a dispatch from another bit of random neural firings that I found highly symbolic. No. 8 Dream:
I am trying to eat a bunch of nails. They're about four inches long, and they're the kind that don't have a flared, round head on them. I'm having a lot of difficulty with this task, but for whatever reason, it is "essential." So I'm tilting my head back and stretching my neck like a sword swallower, and I'm doing my best to get them down. Sometimes, I gag and cough them back up, only to force myself to swallow them again.
Eventually, I swallow them all.
And then I find myself wondering: How will these come out without hurting me? Will I die in the process?
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