Neural Reverb

I have tried for a long time to explain a certain feeling. It's a feeling I get when there is any sort of weakness setting in, a cold, a fever, some short circuit of the body. The best way I can describe it is neural reverb, or neural echoing. 

There's a copper on tin quality to it, like when metals rub together. In the microscopic world of energies, metals create electricity in opposition. You have to use the same, or at least complementary metals when you join them. Otherwise they will deteriorate due to the charges.

There is a mis-joining that occurs sometimes in me. Systemically, the charges go slightly awry, and the resulting sensations are neural reverberation. Each movement or step, or noise, or any sensation on the skin, creates a copper on tin charge, a slight zap and microscopic clank that shimmers. If I'm quiet of movement, I can pick it up. It's the mist thick enough that it makes drops on skin, just before a rain. It's coming. 

I got my first dose of Pfizer vaccine the other day, Friday. I felt absolutely nothing when she injected me. Well, not true. I felt the cold swab of the alcohol wipe before the injection. Then she said she was finished. I waited in the car, in the parking lot with Neal, who got his shot at the same time. I waited for 15 minutes, imagining each moment the onset of anaphylactic shock. And in the car line for coffee afterwards, I listened, to the passing seconds, to be the rare case. But we got our coffee fine. Just coffee. No epinephrine needed.

My arm was sore that night. That's about it. And just the area right around where I believed she pretended to give me a shot because I didn't even feel it. Now I felt it. But just...

We went to Boston the next morning. We roamed the streets, masked up. We bought delicious meals, stayed in a great hotel. We did a bit of Boston. It was probably a dumb thing to do. But we did. And we were as cautious as cautious can be once we threw caution to the wind and went. I mean, going wasn't cautious. But we wore masks. We washed our hands. We distanced. In Boston.

______

This was all something I wrote about three weeks ago. I've been engaged with the world to the extent I haven't been writing much. 

Now it's May 12, a day after my second shot, a day before my 54th birthday. I'm going to New York City for a day trip in a few days. The good news is I've had my second serving of nanochips, making me invincible, impervious, except for the downloads from my liberal overlords who will program empathy and respect for people into my genes. 

That's where I'm at.