SAD
There's this friend I used to have who'd always make fun of me when it rained. In the rain, I'd cycle slowly, just barely faster than a walking pace. She thought it was hilarious. I would tell her that I was afraid of getting a black streak up my back if I went too fast, that as a child I can remember ruining my favourite t-shirt that way. Also, it's harder to brake in the rain, both for me, and for cars.
My right hand has a band-aid across the meaty part at the base of the thumb. My left knee has a band-aid that won't stop leaking blood. Sitting at this desk, every so often, I'll suddenly feel my leg get wet and I'll see a trail of red running down my leg from the band-aid. My head aches in the front.
With the bus in front of me I had to hit both brakes and twist the front tire. That was when the bike slid out and somehow sent me sailing, skidding along the rain-soaked pavement. I jumped up off the ground, ripped off my helmet, threw my bag down and paced back and forth. There was a stream of conciousness coming from my mouth, mostly the words shit and fuck. And fuck. I'd pause and look at the gouges ripped from my knee and hand, past the skin, past the red flesh underneath and into a layer of white, and I'd start pacing and swearing again.
Sitting here typing this wasn't supposed to happen. I was supposed to be out watching somebody's kid tonight. She wasn't happy when I called to say that I couldn't make it. Neither was the mother.
In the morning my arrhythmia was going. I got up, showered, and sat down in front of the computer. I sat there all day. I didn't read, watch a movie, I just sat there. When my father left for the weekend I didn't get up to say goodbye. I can't even remember if I called down anything to him. I got up from my chair with just enough time to get to my friend's place if I travelled at my top speed.
Sometimes I wonder who names diseases. My second grade teacher was named Sandra Beach. Sandy beach. Why would anyone do that to someone else? The acronym for Social Anxiety Disorder, the acronym is SAD.
My right hand has a band-aid across the meaty part at the base of the thumb. My left knee has a band-aid that won't stop leaking blood. Sitting at this desk, every so often, I'll suddenly feel my leg get wet and I'll see a trail of red running down my leg from the band-aid. My head aches in the front.
With the bus in front of me I had to hit both brakes and twist the front tire. That was when the bike slid out and somehow sent me sailing, skidding along the rain-soaked pavement. I jumped up off the ground, ripped off my helmet, threw my bag down and paced back and forth. There was a stream of conciousness coming from my mouth, mostly the words shit and fuck. And fuck. I'd pause and look at the gouges ripped from my knee and hand, past the skin, past the red flesh underneath and into a layer of white, and I'd start pacing and swearing again.
Sitting here typing this wasn't supposed to happen. I was supposed to be out watching somebody's kid tonight. She wasn't happy when I called to say that I couldn't make it. Neither was the mother.
In the morning my arrhythmia was going. I got up, showered, and sat down in front of the computer. I sat there all day. I didn't read, watch a movie, I just sat there. When my father left for the weekend I didn't get up to say goodbye. I can't even remember if I called down anything to him. I got up from my chair with just enough time to get to my friend's place if I travelled at my top speed.
Sometimes I wonder who names diseases. My second grade teacher was named Sandra Beach. Sandy beach. Why would anyone do that to someone else? The acronym for Social Anxiety Disorder, the acronym is SAD.
posted by christopher hearns at 27.9.07
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