This is a commentary about the slow lane, about the slowing of time since I suffered a severe brain injury while skateboarding with my dog. This is a blog about recovery; about our '82 VW Westfalia. It's about writing, surfing, camping, married life, bleeding ulcers that make you feel old at 32; about family, friends, and my dog Artie; it's about cruising in fourth gear, getting passed by every car and learning to appreciate every second of it.
The screen flashed 'Excellent.' My thumbs scouted the screen looking to match three similar-colored jewels. I was fixated on the game.
Just then I heard a loud belch over the shuffle of flip-flops. The light turns on. And there I sat, on a toilet in the stall of a bathroom at a campground deep in the heart of the Sierra Nevadas.
This would have never happened before I lost my sense of smell. I would not have lasted a minute sitting on the pot, unless it was some kind of an emergency. I definitely wouldn't have been able to put all my energy into some stupid android phone game, that's for sure.
I am now that dude, and will always be that dude, unless my sense of smell miraculously returns. It's pretty crazy to think that the fewer senses I have the more I am at ease and can get lost in the moment, even if that is on the shitter in a shitty campground restroom.