Confessions of a Human Nerve Ending

Memory They don't teach you how to watch the slow decline, the slow unwinding, the slow decay of a clock that's been turned on, wound, and run for sixty, seventy, or even eighty years. It's as if you wake up, and your body just can't do what it once did. At the time, you tell yourself, it doesn't really matter. You never really wanted to climb that mountain, run that far, or reach for the edge like you once thought you did. Life is more than just exploring possibilities, its about learning the limits of your own desires. So you settle into a life that seems ..... settle into a life because it feels... and now wake up at night wondering why is my brain doing this? What if the process wasn't just watching your body, adjusting to the slow decay? What if the watcher couldn't step back and watch anymore? At my grandmother's last Thanksgiving, I could barely talk to her. She'd always been a hard woman, demanding so much and making me feel as if every mista

Lakewood Brown hair, cut short, flipped up like a wave rising to crest. ice blue eyes that hinted at a story that may never be told. You try to hold onto images that have disappeared into folds of brain tissue, deep crevices of memory that lose its connection like a hiking trail that gradually becomes part of a hillside landscape winds down to the bottom. From above, its hard to believe that you could make it, could navigate the loose rock and scree winding back and forth to find yourself staring at suburban Lakewood, green lawns, middle school kids playing ball in dead-end cul-de-sacs, and high school kids disappearing in back doors, running for phones that are still wired to walls, televisions that dominate one room, notes scrawled on papers and left on refrigerator doors, covered plates, a list of chores, frozen vegetables moved into a sink. When you finally wake up to the possibility of sex, you forgive the shortcomings you could so easily spot when she was with someone else. Sudde