I’m enjoying editing a portion of my book. So much so that I’m cutting and pasting it here to get back to it.
I see this regularly in counseling sessions. The deer in the headlights look tells me when I’ve gone too far but also that I’m right where I need to be.
The semi truck’s grip was with me as I returned to my car. I opened the contact list on my phone and thumbed five swipes up. Oddly, all the names ran together like water poured from a pitcher. I may have rushed myself. So I tried again. With nothing still, I gave it one last shot, hoping by swirling names like fine wine, I’d find a lifeline.
Being stuck on the Tilt-A-Whirl repeatedly left me with no options. I plucked the 10 mg Vicodin pill from the cup holder and a bottle and swigged down a mouthful of warm water.
How effective were substances in resolving symptoms.
The tension in my chest was the first to calm, and the sparkly feeling flushed my cheeks. My thoughts warmed and stretched out like chewing gum. Then the giddiness. Holy shit, did I ever love the giddiness. Then I scooched back in my seat, propped my foot out the window, and enjoyed my new perspective of the highway.