I’ve gotten scared a couple of times while driving in the last month or so. My hands are on the wheel, eyes on the road, but twice now I have caught myself having to remember to be in the world?, Something like that. I haven’t figured that out yet, which is what’s terrifying.
Have the leaded gas fumes from my father’s Lincoln Continental that I breathed in deeply several times after he had parked in the driveway finally melted my brain? He must have caught me doing that because I only remember getting to stand there breathing in the lead fumes a few times. It must have been better than the smell of bread or cake or cookies baking, because none of those aromas made me want to stick my nose as close to the oven as I could to breathe it in as fully as I could.
But worse than that, could I be getting some form of dementia?
It’s hard to write about this because it’s embarrassing and scary, but it’s real, and maybe someone has an answer, or has experienced something similar.
In both incidents the eerie displacement of time, or space, or space/time, or whatever was happening to me, left me hyper-vigilant, and desperate to seem normal, to feel normal.
I got to my destinations fine, and I’m now realizing that the drives home were unremarkable.
Maybe my senses aren’t as acute as they were a decade ago (or even last year)?
Maybe this is what getting old is.
Bite your tongue, I hear my rebel yell. Fuck off, and then come back and fuck off again. Old. Pssshh!
That’s like saying I’m defective, used up, yesterday’s news – and that’s stupid.
But I can’t stop what happens to my definitely time-based body, even if my, what? – id, ego, and super-ego? – are up in arms at the seeming injustice of it all.
I just have to accept what is, not approve of it.
I also have to figure out if there is something wonky going on in my brain.
Maybe it’s something simple, something fixable.
The fear underneath everything else is whether or not I matter – whether I have relevance.
Well, that is completely self-determined, isn’t it?
No one else defines me unless I let them, and I don’t have to let my worst thoughts about myself decide who I am either.
Full human – still here, still crushing it … 8 times out of 10 – so far.
© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh), Making A Way Blog, 2010 – current