Notes - an account /

           1707 hours. At 0522 this morning I turned to lie on my right side. Suddenly, in front of me about a foot from my head the backs of my eyeballs stand like airplane props spinning in two different directions at the same time. A fully dull foggy light surrounds my still dark pupils whose outer edges are moving like three fan blades in front of these white orbs. I am seeing out of these dark brown pupils at the same time I am viewing the back of my white eyeballs. I am immediately nauseated. I sit up on the west side of the bed declaring in a strangely darkening voice with each word, “Carol . . . something is wrong.” The thin red optic nerve from each eyeball snaps and my reddening eye socket watches the string of optic nerve flapping on ahead. I am where I am, and where I will be but there is nothing more to say. I observe in silence awaiting Carol’s returning voice.

         Thus, your day begins from this memory. – Amorella

         1745 hours. The above is what I remember amid reality tempered with imagination – two small body parts moving onward from outside my body. Within the hour, after some reasoned deliberation as to whether Carol should call 911, I am sitting up in a gurney in the back of a Mason Emergency Vehicle heading to Bethesda North Hospital in Montgomery.  (1748)

         Presently you are being medicated at home resting while sitting in your overstuffed black chair in your bedroom. Later, orndorff. Post.