The world makes sense in its inconsistencies, in the moments where there is no sense. Like how I manage to take my medication and still walk into the hall to be confronted by The Mother, who tells me I’ve had a seizure. Too hot I explain to the man on my lunch break that let me share his table, but that’s just a guess, because I woke up roasting and babies who have seizures normally do so because they have a high temperature. But then I’m not a baby. Today I am paying for the seizure, as every muscle in my body complains at being thrust about carelessly, like I have any control over which wall I hit mid-seizure. My body is being extremely unreasonable if you ask me.
After work, The Mother picked me up and I complained at great length about everything I could think of. At home, she told me to close my eyes and hold out my hands. When I opened my eyes, there was a box of chocolates The Mother had bought me to try and make me feel better. I ate all of the strawberry and orange ones, and the Turkish delight, and then settled myself in for an evening of moaning/feeling sorry for myself.