The first time I picked up a pencil to write I used my right hand. Instinct.
“Through learning we form memories, and those memories build on instincts to allow beneficial behavior.” MIT
2020, Reno
One day my gall bladder ruptured. So my friends called 911, and I went through emergency surgery to have my gallbladder removed. I woke up with 99% of my existence erased.
I couldn’t remember anything — any person or place or thing. Or books that I had read. And books I’d written.
I couldn’t write because I couldn’t remember what I was writing. This caused me to stumble off a rocky cliff and plunge into a stormy ocean of vodka.
But writing is like being right-handed — it’s instinct. So now I have scribbles of memories on paper. Somewhere.
I have healthcare! A hospital neuropsychologist evaluated me. I now have financial assistance because I was diagnosed as being severely mentally disabled.
Me, my other selves and I write about tripping. Falling. Landing into a piece of time to who we used to. Who we want to become. Who we are—now.
I’m never sure what is now.
Now. I’m never sure which hand to use to pick up a pen. Or an eraser. Or a metaphor.
Writing is still my strongest instinct. The accident never changed that.
So. Here I am.
Remembering.
Forgetting.
Destroying
Creating.
Knitting.
Michelle O’Kane 