So I’m walking to class and I’m lightheaded from all this nicotine and I realize:
I can’t remember anything that happened this week, because the Valium will do that to you,
And it’s just common sense that I’ll never be whole with all these pieces missing.
I take notes on the important things, but they still get lost, almost like
They’re in black holes. And you know, nothing escapes black holes except for a little radiation.
So I go to the lab, and I’m washing all the vials.
And washing the jars, and putting them away in their bins, and
Waiting for the scales to recalibrate,
And measuring,
And calculating,
And writing down answers I don’t understand to questions I don’t know,
Because it comforts me. It doesn’t matter that I’m a ghost to myself, or that I can’t remember this week, or that I’m lightheaded and tired,
It just matters that the instruments are precise, and the containers are sterilized, and the data is documented.
And after all that,
Then something is real and I proved it and that one thing will still be there even when I don’t remember having been the one to find it.
