the running of the brain

There were no thoughts in my head while I was surviving, other than thoughts of survival itself. It was a journey through time, marked in twelve-hour intervals between medications, an occasional wildlife documentary or tiny meal amidst stretches of fever-chilled sleeps.

Thanks to the luxuries of four walls and a roof, a credit card, and friends that go on pharmaceutical drug runs, I was able to complete the journey; the quest ending back at work rather than in the grave.

Since then the thoughts in my head have returned. Fret, desire, curiosity, duty, fear, fun, ambition. Good thoughts, bad thoughts, boring thoughts, shameful thoughts (delightfully shameful thoughts!), routine everyday thoughts.

So much work, this running of the brain. I miss the stillness. I never imagined I'd find gratitude in utter incapacitation.

If I can find it there, no doubt it must be everywhere, patiently awaiting liberation.

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