Monday, January 9, 2017
Symptoms crept in from the corners of awareness at first. The off-kilter blur of vision, the dullness of edges, the balkiness of a mind in the face of new ideas. Then, there were the emotions -- the continual hardening irritation at it all, the whole mess of this effed-up world. He was a hair-trigger when it came to anything stupid or mean. The overall effect was a dimming, a gradual slide toward shut-down. He tried to hang on, to keep the brain fresh and sharp, but the tenacity of plaque was unrelenting, dousing the light of synapses. The fire was going out, whether he liked it or not. He had to face the hard truth: it has begun. Of course, he wanted proof, so he got the genetic test. For weeks he waited for the hard data to confirm his suspicions. In that interim, the world still wanted its pound of flesh from him. He ran his classes, attended his meetings, tried to stay on top of the avalanche of petty details, of cyber pyranha that nibbled and gnawed away the last vestiges of his peace of mind. Enough already, he said. Enough.