that I have gone from
weights
attached to my eyelids,
dragging, sinking always backward into sleep
gravity too heavy to fight until later in the day
to
instant alertness at the first sound
waking with the baby,
the cat
the first electric feel of daytime energy and I can’t go back to sleep
my legs! my legs!
quadriceps to be specific
first, a biological explanation/ theory:
serotonin is a neurotransmitter,
(and brain lubricant?)
a medium of electrical
impulse transmissions and I dont
have enough in my brain
or rather my brain is too greedy,
the little hungry neuron buggers pounding the stuff
instead of sipping slowly
I think norepinephrine is also a nuerotransmitter?
anyway, it's similarly lurking
hanging out in the synapse
in the gap between me and eternity
enter the SSRIs! the SNRIs! the Seussian snuffalumps!
into the breach!
foreign intervention on hostile soil, or a visiting liberating army?
man the neurotic battlestations!
selectively!
inhibit
inhibit!
defense! offense!
keeping my starving, greedy natives from eating too fast
increasing the stimulus across the gap
multiplying the power of my weaker battalions
is this a tired image? or eerily appropriate?
that i think of my brain chemistry with
military and macro-economic metaforas?
that i think of my brain chemistry with
military and macro-economic metaforas?
 |
| (toy soldiers from my grandma's attic - 50+ years old) |
so if all goes according to plan, the Prozac, Pristiq, lexapro, celexa and the rest
SeLECTIVELY slow the process,
increasing stimulus to my mental economy
enough to help me beat gravity
at the appropriate time of the morning
and yet here I am,
beating the enemy en la madrugada!
overly alert!
over-excited for the excuse to get the baby out of bed!
to play with me
to play with me
guess what? you don’t get to be so selective
those surgical strikes? yeah, right
that intelligence on the WMDs in my brain?
apparently the CIA thinks I also
have them in my legs,
have them in my legs,
because the battles are raging sporadically
always worse when I’m supposed to be sitting still
transatlantic flight? great time for an unnecessary defense!
vibrations in my thighs
and i don’t mean the sexy kind
i mean the kind that make my seatmates want to
smother me
smother me
i’m rubbing my hands together like an evil genius
shaking kicking jiggling
almost voluntary
except if I don’t move I feel I could explode
an SSRI implosive incident over international waters
 |
| (portrait of me age 13 with new egg on my face - not a self-portrait!) |
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