The Weird Insights of a Scobberlotcher

Three Sounds Dandelion Yellow

Didn't wake up till 4. Holy shit! In two hours or less my wife the ghost would be expecting dinner. I tried to put a positive spin on it. Maybe this was just what I needed, a single task to completely absorb me. Shove aside my preoccupation with a fractured brain and lose myself in cooking. Nothing exotic. I may have lost my mind but I knew my limits. Something basic. Tacos! That would be perfect. I headed to the kitchen. On the way through the dining room I stumbled into the table. And not a glancing blow. A real good hip check that made sturdy oak shudder. It was one of those moments when you stand back with a puzzled look and say 'now where the hell did that come from?' Except it had always been there. I had to carefully nudge the table back to its proper place centred on the rug and rearrange two of the chairs. The ghost noticed that kind of thing. Ignoring irregularities was not one of her strengths.

The kitchen was mildly reassuring. Everything was in its place. Everything had its function. All I had to do was concentrate and swing into action. Which I did. The result was a cacophony of colliding cups, plates, pots and cutlery as I stumbled over and fumbled with everything. Coordination had completely abandoned me. Wow, things were getting worse! What if this was some kind of neurological disorder? Worse, what if it's degenerative? After that the prep for dinner became somewhat slapdash and perfunctory. Cooking as a spastic gripped by fear is a challenge. But tacos are really hard to fuck up so my choice proved fortuitous.

The ghost got home. We had dinner. We went into the living room. She sat at one end of the couch reading the news on her tab. I sat at the other pretending to read a book. The words whizzed by like the dotted lines on a highway but it was good cover. She said a few things to me. I was as forthcoming as a hardened criminal in a police interrogation. Finally she asked, "Are you o.k.?"

Christ, a direct question! About me!

"Ya, I'm fine," is what I said without looking at her.

'Nobody can know about this. Nobody!' is what I thought and turned on the t.v.

Going to sleep that night was like running for cover. An escape into a dark cave. Then I awoke at three. It was waiting for me. It'd been waiting for me the whole time, hovering over my bed. When I sat up I poked my head right into the middle of it. It had me, like putting on a horrible helmet. Forget about pissing. There was nothing to do but duck and try to run away again, which I managed without wetting the bed. It, on the other hand, went nowhere, waiting patiently for morning.