“I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity…” – Edgar Allen Poe.

I’m on the other side of the moon. While I wasn’t looking, they turned the world upside down.

Just a few days ago – or was it only yesterday – I was crowing about our fun birthday celebration in Williamstown, Mass, just a few days ago!

Last night, I wandered into an Edgar Allen Poe horror story -“all that we see is but a dream within a dream.” I dreamt that Donald Trump found Jesus and said something that was true.

I woke up minutes ago and rushed to the computer to share my spectacular evening of dementia, lightning, and spinning wheels. A writer’s dream, to be honest.

This trip to Williamstown had to be another hallucination, I thought.

At the moment, I’m just another drooling and helpless slob; my self-esteem has taken a beating from Covid. I pray I don’t look like I feel. Poor Maria. I suppose she is stuck with me for the moment.

I vaguely remember taking care of her when she got sick. Now, I’m lucky to get dressed by myself. Hubris, I think.

I’m not showered or dressed yet, but I had to write this while I can still recall it.

I wonder if one can become a Nyquil addict, I drank enough to put a horse to sleep to stop coughing, and it worked.

In the daylight, I’m walking into doors and refrigerators and had to think about Maria’s name,  but I haven’t coughed in 20 minutes.

I would have gladly traded my firstborn to the devil to stop coughing last night.

He said no deal. Jesus suffered,  just like the Amish say, and so shall we if we want to get to heaven.

I’m busy, he said. Covid comes from somewhere, you know. I can’t believe they are trying to pin it on the Chinese. They never learn.

And I know it will start again when the Nyquil wears off (it does taste good, although it’s not good medicine for a person with diabetes, I know. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

I ran outside to clear my head, and the donkeys took one look and took off for the back pasture.   One of the flowers wilted when I walked by the garden beds.

 

The donkeys don’t like coughing, and they’ve suffered enough at the hands of humans.

They weren’t interested in alfalfa treats from me. Zinnia stared at me curiously as if I had just stepped out of a spaceship. Maria was speaking Swahili.

I have a fever and have lost the ability to taste food. The Imperious Hens were not intimidated; they came running over to me, hoping for a chip or rotten peach. They could care less about my Covid.

The good news is that I don’t have to wonder what to write about.

This morning I took my second dose of the so-called miracle drug Paxlovid, and I saw all kinds of colors, witches, demons, meteors, and carnival wheels spinning and dancing in the dawn.

They say it takes three days for these pills to work, and I’m halfway there. I wondered if I should take them all at once to get well sooner.

That was the insanity part Poe is always rambling on about.

The angels dancing in my head are singing angry gangsta rap.

Maria has been communicating with a raven in our maple tree for days; they seem to have much to say.

I haven’t had much to say; I’m too busy coughing. Maria looks at me and shakes her head. What is there to say?  She is sometimes too tired to stand up.

Sometime around midnight, I started reciting Poe’s Raven poem. I think he was one of the spirits who came to laugh at me and clap their hands over my misery. See, he said, now you know!

Didn’t your mama tell you that I asked if you don’t have something good to say, don’t say anything?

Everybody’s mama said that he said. But nobody listened to what their mama told them to do, he replied. Good point, brother, I said. Read my e-mail

I’ll shower and head out to see my flowers in a few minutes: color and light.

I remembered the first few lines of Poe’s greatest poem, but my drugged and aging mind could not pull up the rest, so I went online to flesh it out and read it repeatedly while I tried to sleep.

I went on Calm, the online website for yuppie anxiety that helps us sleep, and listened to a story about a Koala bear in a tree. For some reason, it put me to sleep.

It was shorter than Captain Bluebeard or Humphrey the snobby London Cat.

When I woke up, I was able to remember almost all of the Raven poem.

I related to Poe last night, I got a powerful insight into his madness, and we bonded with one another. Hello brother, he said; how is it on the other side of the moon? It is wild her, like taking psychedelic drugs

“Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door —
Only this, and nothing more.”

And now I have to go, as I’ve started coughing again. I will lie on the couch for a while and chat with Poe. I’m hoping for an interval of sanity.

“I was never really insane except upon occasions when my heart was touched.” — Edgar Allen Poe.