Devonne Brown

Mania is an expensive disease of unspeakable joy. I missed a day of school and missed professional development trauma training with personal trauma self-care/ My world rocked. I took a sick day, ended up taking two without a fever. Sickness doesn’t always come with high temperatures, sometimes it looks like notions and I took one to go see old friends I’d never met before and flew to California from West Virginia for no good reason. My trip to the San Francisco Bay Area required me to use sick days, one with no students, as well as one with students. I say “required”. I was about to lose my mind if I didn’t go. Mania casts decisions in stone.

  I couldn’t stand being locked up with myself and the cats for one more lonely long weekend, and I had, after all, been invited. My mind wouldn’t stop. So, I  went to discuss shoes and ships and cabbages and kings with walruses, to paraphrase Lewis Carroll, and let it blow some cobwebs out of my head so I could go back to teaching with joy again. I hoped.

 Before I left, .I saw the shrink. I told her to increase or change my meds so I don’t kill people. She agreed. She also thought walrus visiting was a good plan too. 

My friends were the old friends I knew they were. He was the father of my high school sweetheart, the love of my life, who died when I was a senior in college. His wife was an open minded delight. He reached out to me about two years ago after running across a box of letters and memorabilia Alan had saved from when we were together.  He had asked me to visit some time ago, more than once. He even used the, “I’m 92 and you better hurry up, card,” he did. He twisted my arm. I have never made such a wonderful decision.