My VA Shuffle

Now, I’ve ain’t ever been accused of being the sharpest hoe in the shed, but I’ll say this much: when you go nearly two weeks without the medication that’s supposed to keep your brain wired together, life starts looking like one of those psychedelic light shows from the sixties.

That’s where I found myself this morning—my head humming like a lava lamp with a mind of its own, spraying neon graffiti across what I call “unorganized ground clouds.” For those of you who’ve never experienced that particular phenomenon, imagine trying to herd tumbleweeds in a windstorm while juggling bowling pins.

That’s about the size of it.

Now, I’d like to say I took this in stride, that I leaned back in my easy chair, sipped my coffee, and chuckled about the quirks of the human condition.

But I just sat there muttering, “Damn the VA anyway.”

Because let’s be honest, dealing with them can feel like playing fetch with a dog that won’t bring the stick back. You throw your request out there, wait and wait, and when something finally comes back, it usually ain’t what you asked for in the first place.

In the meantime, I’ve had to find my own ways of keeping grounded. Coffee helps some, though too much makes the graffiti brighter.

Walking Buddy helps more. He doesn’t care if my thoughts are marching in straight lines or zig-zagging like drunks leaving a honky-tonk—he just wants to sniff fence posts and chase grasshoppers.

The funny thing is, mania has its moments. I found myself reorganizing the garage at three a.m. By “reorganizing,” I mean I moved everything from one side to the other and declared it progress.

Mary came out with that look in her eye that could stop a stampede.

“Go to bed,” she said. “The lawnmower doesn’t care if it’s parked north or south.”

Common sense, plain as day. She’s good at reminding me of it.

Now, folks who’ve never had their head go supernova like this might think it sounds scary. Truth is, it’s more annoying than terrifying.

It’s like being stuck at a county fair where every ride runs at once, and you’ve got a ticket for all of them. You keep getting in line, hopping on, and by the time you stagger off one, the next one’s ready to launch you.

I keep telling myself it’ll pass once the VA finally gets around to filling the prescription. Until then, I reckon the trick is not to fight it too hard. Life throws its curves, and sometimes the best you can do is lean back, laugh when you can, and try not to spill your coffee when the merry-go-round spins too fast.

And maybe that’s a blessing in disguise: even when my head’s a carnival midway, I know I’m still here, still breathing, still capable of taking Buddy for a walk, fixing a sandwich, and sitting on the porch to watch the clouds. Organized or not, they keep drifting by.

So, yes, damn the VA anyway. But thank heaven for dogs, wives with common sense, and the kind of small-town life where even a lava-lamp brain can find a little peace.