Big. Bad. Things.
Stacking on top of one another – jostling to be on top of the heap – until, like an evil game of Jenga, it all came toppling down.
Transient Ischemic Attack
I am home.
I am fine.
Milder than the last, but more significant being my second brain fart.
Strict instructions to look after myself and reduce the stress in my life.
And then the neurologist and I had a laugh over a tequila and some blow off a dead hookers body.
That last line might not have happened.
But as likely as the one before it.