Meekly meeting Meek … I hope

Know when to walk away, know when to run … ”  Sometimes I’m clueless whether one is advisable.

Because I have no idea what I just said, or what was said in response.  It’s one of the “joys” of epilepsy when control by medication is intermittent.

When the neurons misfire and disconnect my mouth from my brain, they also disconnect my memory.  Often it’s imperceptibly flickering fluorescent lights that trigger the mind/mouth/memory meltdown, sometimes it’s just stress.

After a meltdown, I’m left wondering … have I repeated myself, spoken in complete sentences, made any sense?  Did I speak too long or too emphatically, did my hands shake or my eyes dart here and there?  Was the person I was speaking to on the verge of calling security?

Last night I was late in getting ready to go attend U. S. Senate candidate Meek’s local gathering.  Information had come to me regarding an informant in a Brevard wrongful conviction I’ve been involved with for years, and I wanted to pass it on rapidly, afraid it would stress me out if I left the task until I got home, possibly tripping neurons when I needed them if I happened to get a chance to speak to Rep. Meek.

But the neurons tripped anyway.  I got to the old Ft. Pierce Courthouse too late to hear Meek’s speech.  There likely were fluorescent lights in the building; I don’t remember.

Just like I don’t remember what I said to Rep. Meek when I got his attention and spoke to him.  I hope I briefly, quietly and coherently asked Meek to do something about Brevard’s conviction corruption when he’s elected to the Senate, without making him even momentarily consider calling security.  But I have no way of knowing.

Driving wasn’t a great idea with the misfires still underway, but not wanting to conspicuously sit in the parking lot had me heading out, with extreme caution.  At a nearby stoplight, it dawned on me how to buy time to allow the brainstorm to quiet down … the car wash.

I’ve been there often, but couldn’t figure out how to make a selection.  I was in the stall for a long, long time; I must have purchased the most expensive cycle.  My receipt was an uninformative blank but my mind cleared while the machines made multiple passes.  I finished the drive home confidently, not letting the gloppy stuff all over the rear window rattle me.

There’s an outside chance I made a modicum of sense, and that Rep. Meek may have said he’d help.  Here’s hoping.

About Susan Chandler

Now-disabled interior/exterior designer dragged into battling conviction corruption from its periphery in a third personal battle with civil public corruption.
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