The Pains

The remaining grains of rice on my plate cling to each other as if they are trying to avoid the fingers hovering above them. They seem to move about the plate without my even touching them - fleeing, rolling, sticking to the remaining clump of wasabi guarding the edge. When I look down at my plate, I see the food that had been there with them, but that has now disappeared - gone into the jumbled up inner-workings of my body. Gravy is no more, it is now gradually cooking at body temperature, mine.

That's when it starts - sometimes it begins with a low rumble in my hip sockets - a vibration that spreads through my muscles and settles uncomfortably in my elbows. On occasion, the pang will come directly from where the food has supposedly gone - a naked rumble that I think everyone can hear. That, I think, is when my eyes start to melt backwards into my body. This, I believe, is when my auditory system starts to shut down to the world. This, is definitely when I start feeling that tingling in my fingers - the same one that used to spur urges to take things that weren't mine, to hold more in my hands, pockets, bags, and   hear than I ever could carry in my soul.

The voice knows, it just knows, the parts of my body that are feeling weak today. It wraps itself around my aching knee, it pulls at my stretched out calf muscle -it commands my hands to go to my wrists and legs and measure them with my fingers.

 It can strike anywhere - sitting across from someone I care about at dinner; at a party; at home; walking on the street; at the movies; at work; while reading; even on the way to the office.

It can strike anytime  - after lunch; when I wake up; in the evening; in the middle of the afternoon; after a dream; before a dream; at 5:37 or 17:37; at 3:28 or 15:28 - it really doesn't discriminate.