Man-Lift (pt. 7)

I fade in and out. I hear afternoon passing by my window. I feel arms wrapped around me, warm skin sticks to my own.

Sweat from my left temple drains into my left eye. I awaken blurry, alarms going off in every follicle. As my new day dawns and awareness drags me awake, I notice my right hand feels warm and meaty. Still weak from whatever grand seizure I just rode, I turn my head towards my right side and there it is, my hand deep inside a large jar of peanut butter, knife still in hand.

What-the-fuck, I’m sitting in my own pee & vomit

Then I remember sinking into my leather chair, preparing a victory sandwich. Where did I get the peanut butter? This is the worst seizure I’ve ever had. My face feels swollen, I can hardly breath. I notice my pills scattered like shooting stars all over the carpet, sinking slowly into the weft and warp.

Those damn pills are supposed to give me the gift of clarity. Instead, I forgot I’m allergic to nuts. I remember this now. Seizures, a bracelet, shock, delirium, 911.

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