* Myriad sensations. Warmed blankets. Skin pricks. Antiseptic. Rubbing alcohol. Chatter as professionals walk past my cube. I doze unaided by meds...do they pipe the meds in through the air vents? Disappearing for hours, not dreaming. A chest on fire, pierced by a row of barbed wire. I prattle to the driver : "The nurse put my shoes on me." Home, with flowing drains beneath my flat shirt. Icey mandarin orange segments. Meds and dreamless sleep. All this while outside the snow falls and cars sit unresponsive in the negative degrees.
* News the world thinks important does not penetrate. Even after the heavy duty meds are gone all I want to do is eat mandarin oranges segments and sleep. My room mate refills the vaporizers, feeds the dogs, empties my 'grenades', pushes me to drink water. In preparation we decided that he would not ask me how I am but that when my eyes opened I would recite a litany of ...well...how I am. And with every litany I add : "I am not complaining, just reporting." Close my eyes, drift back to sleep. A bomb next door would not disturb my mandarin oranges and sleep.
* Finally, I am able to open the door to let the dogs out. I inspect my fingernails and wonder how I got the cut on my inner heel. A pale yellow gaunt face reflects back at me. And finally, I take notice of the snow, the cold, the news, the winter garden. I wonder, at last, what is next on this wretched unplanned passage. On my very own A Trip Into the Blue.
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