Mat of La Mancha

I am the Mat Quixote.
I tilt at the windmills of depression.
I do battle with the demons of others.
It is a war that I must wage.
At stake is my sanity.
I wish to champion their cause and somehow find worth in myself.
My enemies lay in wait.
They hide in the dark recesses of desire.
Their poison tipped arrows aimed at my heart fail to penetrate my shell.
My vulnerability is the armor I wear.
My love is the power I wield.
Though it is their conflict, it is my cause.
I shall prevail.

The uneasiness started on my way to the freeway. It had been a wonderful day and evening at my muses in the city. She had made some bad ass coffee and it was doing its job well. Wide awake and aware. Somethings not right though. There's a pain in the left arm and wrist that comes and goes then comes back again. The nausea follows and some tightness in the chest threatens to squeeze off all breath. Then the flitters and flutters. Dizziness and a vague sense of fear start to set in. At home the pacing and confusion start. Go to the hospital or go to sleep? A decision has to be made and is. It may be embarrassing but it's just too obvious that something is terribly wrong. The symptoms worsen on the way to the hospital. At the emergency room an ekg is taken and the signals come out screwy. Everything starts to mellow out at just about the time the IV is inserted. The rest of the night is spent in fitful sleep. No work last week for Mat.

The Wages of Love.