Obstacles

Sometimes I wonder…

Is there anybody out there? Is anyone really out there?

Firstly, I must apologize. Where I said I would write one short story a week for 52 weeks, I posted the last short story late Saturday night, minutes before midnight. Now for all the things I promised myself I won’t do, making excuses is at the very top.

I got my personal assignment done. It was tiresome, exhausting and I wasn’t feeling my best. I haven’t felt my best all week for that matter. Nevertheless, there are several minutes between Sunday morning to Saturday approaching the midnight hour. Seven full days.

As an unwanted fever cooked my brain, I tried to eat something and immediately threw it out. Why? Because, it didn’t taste right. Let’s be clear, I’m not a master chef, but I do know how to make breakfast. So last Thursday, while everyone whispered sweet nothings into their significant others ear, I was struggling to stand and cook something to eat so I didn’t wither away and expire.

I cooked eggs and instant oatmeal. Easy. I’ve lost count how many times I’ve done this and well. However, when I nibbled my eggs, it tasted like battery acid. Not that I know what battery acid taste like, but if I had to imagine it, that would be the most accurate guess. Yes, I brushed my teeth. And rinsed. I drank some water and tried the eggs again. This time I tasted metal. How did I go from battery acid to metal. I threw the mighty morphin’ eggs away and sat in my corner to do what all authors do: brood.

How did my breakfast change from one bite to the next? If there is ANYONE out there reading THIS article, I fully expect WebMD hotlinks telling me I have Nutella Disease or that I’m pregnant. Neither would surprise me. I digress. As I pondered, I wondered about the senses: sight, smell, touch, taste and hearing. If one person tasted eggs and I tasted paint chips, my world view is now compromised. I could be color blind. The common view of what the world says is real is now skewed for me. Smell could be altered. There are people that underwent brain surgery and stated that they smelled a burning house when there weren’t any fires in the hospital where they operated. Hearing can also be altered or removed entirely. This leaves touch.

Now touch, to me, is arguably the most important thing to me because if I can’t touch something, feel warmth, I might just lose my sanity, but as you no doubt have guessed, you can be struck with nerve damage or sensation of feeling temperature can be skewed when you are ill.

So that’s all five senses. All of them can be tampered with, therefore I am a body filled with imperfect memories of stories I told myself over and over again.

That prospect can be very depressing, but I also notice that my default is to go to the worst imaginable. You could make an equally amazing story with all the wonder and possibilities available to you at arms reach.

It occurred to me that I am an author and I can craft my own self story and pen my own successes as well as relationships. And as for ‘am I really alone?’ It certainly doesn’t feel that way to me, but that’s how I wrote it.

I await the WebMD articles now. Come on. Don’t be shy. I’ll be here with my beer listening to Three Days Grace and Chevelle.