“hey how ya doing?”
“dadalee-dadala-didididli-daI’m doing okaydadale-dadala how about you?”
I get funny looks from everyone except for my two-year-old, who, unfortunately for him, has no reason to think my communication skills are less than stellar.
There is also, jittering under every activity of the day, the relentless urge to Get Back To Work on the piece, which can make me unsettling company. I know others sense that I’m not really with them; whatever they are saying to me is like distracting background music. The sounds in my head are much more present than anything in front of my eyes — at times like these it’s all I can do to push what I’m hearing down below see level.
It’s a delirious feeling – what I live for, and yet there is hardly anything else that causes me so much discomfort. And the oddest part is knowing that the thing I cannot get out of my mind is something nobody else has heard. In a way, that’s the underlying reason for having to keep working on it – to get it out of my head and into someone else’s, so I can regain a modicum of normalcy in my life.
That is, until the next delirium overtakes me.