My heart sort of burped a couple of times the other day while I walked down 6th Avenue to Bed Bath & Beyond. This "burp" is, I've learned from my GP, a kind of small heart attack and what causes my life to spin out of control at inopportune times. This time I simply kept walking even though my feet were swollen and my legs tingled. I felt dizzy and disoriented, more than usual. My GP said to head for the ER if any of these symptoms occurred but since I otherwise felt OK, no longer have health insurance and had a mission to accomplish I walked on.
At BB&B I ran into a familiar face in the home cleaning fluid department, a face I recognized but had no idea who it belonged to. Said face was a bit chunkier than I remembered and its owner much taller than I recalled. I smiled and the face kind of smiled back in a distracted way, probably because it was arguing with a woman about cleaning fluids and pushing a child in a stroller. We spotted each other several times after that before we finally parted.
When I got home I finally remembered the face from Saturday Night Live and, with Google's help, determined it was Jimmy Fallon. Well, how you doin' Jimmy!
Oh, yeah, back to the my heart burping: thanks to my GP (tall, dark and handsome Dr. G, who all the nurses swoon for when he walks down the corridor's of the Bellevue Clinic) I know this little burp will cause what looks like a state of depression to most people but is really my brain not getting enough blood so it's more like being stoned. This has happed so often in my life I no longer consider it unusual and it didn't seem serious enough to go to the ER so I went with the flow, which resulted in a horrible couple of days at work where I made no money and some hours I can't account for but, generally, I've learned to live with it because, for the first time in my life, I know what it is: every once in a while my heart burps and I'm off on a totally unplanned journey. For the longest time I thought it might be a kind of schizophrenia that just pops up every once in a while and in a way that's true because one definition of schizophrenia is "broken heart."
Eventually it will kill me but not right now so I worked on my writing. I've been trying to edit my "In The Cold" journals but since that was too traumatic I began something called "Prologue" which turned fictional and is now my main focus. It is a fictional narrative of New York as if 9/11 didn't happen, or rather what New York would be like if the hijackers had been caught before they flew the planes. It's about a burp of history rather than the disaster we have set in our group mind and how politicians and everyone else used it to their advantage a la Milton Friedman. Things turn out differently, and not much better. I'll post it as vagabondapparatus once I manage to get fifty pages done. For now, it's called "Prologue" and will eventually be a world.
So, that's what I'm up to. Burp.