High Falutin

You know you’re not a candidate for hard core drugs when a puff of Mary Jane causes you to see Sebastian from the Little Mermaid riding through the room in his seashell chariot. I tend to experience an uncomfortable sensation of circling through time – my own time, not like real history – but time, nonetheless. I’ve also been known to eat an entire pot of goat cheese pasta, right from the stove. With the serving spoon. I don’t think my friends or family would describe my baked brain as smarter (or functional), but I present this poem to share with the world some of my deepest, most profound thinking. These words were written many moons ago – before kids or marriage – during an especially upsetting episode of time travel. We were watching that nonsensical Charlie Sheen interview – which I had seen previously and knew to be insane. But it suddenly all made sense to me – Charlie Sheen was speaking truth. And that’s when I panicked. I sensed that those around me weren’t taking me seriously. I also knew in my heart that the thoughts I was having were as close to TRUTH as I’d ever come. So I grabbed paper and pen to preserve my insight, to document the clarity I was sure I had grasped…

Only vaguely have a concept of the future

Going back in forth in time

Seeing myself, my seat and my time from various perspectives

My thoughts keep getting erased

Where am I?

Hearing voices

Know one [sic] has experienced this – why doesn’t anyone feel it – I know this is different


Knowing when/how to act w/o my brain—Jessie w/o Jessie

Many me’s in me

Am I functioning?

Understand crazy

In and out of time

How long is it taking?

Most important thoughts

Not wanting to be put to death w/ Alzheimer’s—lucidity of time

Cookies—small, hard cakes

Published by imworriedmytherapisthatesme

I'm a history-PhD-turned-stay-at-home-mom of three. When I'm not microwaving Trader Joe's meals for my kids, breaking up fights and wiping butts, I like to paint and write. To cope with the endless hours I'm spending with my son doing virtual school, I've abandoned my gouache paints for the more portable, less messy tried but true, paper and ink. While he learns to read to 20 floating heads on his screen, I sit on a tiny chair, at a tiny table pretending to be a productive adult.

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