Tangental Drama!

Holy Jesus fuck.

I decided to walk to Dr. Shoja. It meant walking over the Granville Street Bridge. As I approached the apex of the bridge a couple was standing blocking my way and facing away from me. When I started to pass them, I saw her. She was perched on the handrail getting ready to launch herself off the bridge.

No sooner had I seen her than two police cars arrived on my left. Two police officers got out of the car in front of me and the burly cop walked right up to the perching woman and grabbed her. He pulled her onto the sidewalk and handcuffed her. Then he told us to leave.

I walked on in kind of a daze and wondering why the handcuffs and then all of a sudden I started hyperventilating and it lasted far longer than usual. Once it had passed I continued on but when I got to VGH I had another — this one even worse. And when Dr. S. called me in I was finger spelling and signing everything. I could not make a sound.

Then another one; this morning was very hard to experience.

It even started off bad. It dawned orange. The air is hot and forest fire smoke is filtering our light and giving our air an acrid smell. Car alarms are going off triggered by the heavy traffic serving the many construction projects that surround me and right outside my window some kind of giant vacuum cleaner is sucking gravel off the roof across the lane. It’s so loud my concrete building is vibrating.

By the time I came out of Dr. S’s office, the smoky sky had turned jaundice yellow. The smoke must be thick because it’s quite dark. It’s eerie. And so hot.

Meanwhile…. In the public garden across the street someone is growing asparagus. They’ve surrounded it with a flimsy wire fence and draped some fabric on the fence to keep their plants from burning in the afternoon sun and they put a sign on it: “This is the awning of the cage of asparagus.”

Baby Orangutang hand.

Seeing is Understanding

The video above shows you why I have abandoned speech on the street. It’s impractical. I carry a notepad with me in which is a note printed in large dark text: “I am mute. Please bear with me while I write down a question.”

Normally I don’t need the note. Before I go into a store, I write down what I want on a blank page. The note is for emergencies; I can cover the second part with my hand to just use the first sentence.

Remember: I am only mute when I’m without a friend. When I am with a friend I can talk fluently to her or him and passably with strangers. But when I'm alone, which is most of the time, I am the person you see in the video. That’s why phones are very hard — even with a friend.

I plan to bulk buy once I have a house and I’ll get a freezer  so I can minimize my communications with strangers.

Tonight: A party of theatre friends. Bruce is going too. It’s his debut with our group since his stroke and since mine as an out de-camper.

Rattlers

For your psychology course at university you are tasked with participating in a psychology experiment. When you arrive to your destination you find it’s a huge rectangular conservatory with solid walls two meters high. On top of the walls are windows that go all the way up to the ceiling and the ceiling is domed glass. Its inside is bursting with plants. There is a door in the centre of each end wall.

You are escorted to a door marked “entrance” by a technician when you arrive. He tells you that your task is simple: You are to walk barefoot and in shorts through the conservatory to the exit door at the other end along the winding path, open it and leave, closing the door behind you. When you exit, another technician will meet you.

Then he says: “The exit technician will interview you about your experience. Our interest is in your emotions as you walk through the conservatory because there are twenty rattle snakes in there amongst the plants so be careful where you step. But I assure you: You are completely safe. They are unrestrained but no one has ever been bitten and we’ve done this test hundreds of times.”

What do you think it would be like to do that? How do you think you would feel? That scenario is what I came up with yesterday as a way to help friends understand what it feels like for me to go outside.

I decided to walk the long way to Granville Island yesterday. For the first half-hour my body moved forward slowly and steadily. My steps were slow and strategic; Ii felt like walking through water. My entire body felt stiff; every movement felt forced. I focused constantly on not grinding my teeth and I clamped my hands together in front of me so that they can’t flail to my sides when I’m startled noises and sudden movements. Every ten minutes I stopped to rest and calm myself.

After about half an hour I acclimatize and the incredible tension eases if I get away from high streets and strangers. But I remain mute. I cannot talk unless I am with a friend except to say single syllables.

All this is why I’m moving. I believe that if I move to the edge of a small town where I can emerge into quiet and calm that I will far more comfortably adjust to the outside world — unlike here where my route is infested with rattlers (unpredictable strangers).