(As an anniversary present to myself I decided to share this essay with you all. I wrote this last year.)
#21. grow a new eye
Last night I read that they cleaned off the matted dried blood from my face and the grass sticking out of my hair. Apparently I was repeating myself, “What happened? What happened?’ It didn’t make sense, so I asked again and again like an old woman with Alzheimer’s, and as the rescue angels swooped me up in their helicopter, all faded to black.