I’m enchanted by myself. I just reread my blog posts from many years ago when my three offspring were teenagers. Some of the posts I deleted. Others I will savor for years to come. The writing was quite snide but only a single parent raising teenagers—ones who are born from their own genes—can relate to me…

You are the memory I have known all my life. You float on a cloud, sometimes white, other times invisible. Clouded, yet not. You are me. You surround me with invisibility—a strength that shields.

Is it a heart or mind that is captured when a story comes to live on the screen as if concocted as typed? A memory or imagery merges—paints itself across the screen as envisioned—with feelings and colors from a world that doesn’t quite exist, yet does.

Your tapestry speaks of histories, of memories, and of dreams once lived yet maybe not. You are a heart that I have won. Even my nervous and tender sentences do not put a dent in your undying craze over me.

The thoughts that come to me when I am into you.

I surrender now to you. To you, and to the powers that be that will make my dreams come true in a second once I let go. To you I speak…

What is inside you when you feel like melting? Are the particles of you floating eloquently in space aimlessly, or alive… waiting to pounce? You remind me of a memory where the bubbles of time enter without a cue, knowing their place.

You have, I'm sure, had the experience at one time in your life of forgetting what you were doing as soon as you entered another room. Do doorways actually serve as event boundaries or is one's ability to remember linked to the environment in which a decision was created?

Dear fine moment... my first few sips of coffee,

Head trauma victims often end up with Traumatic Brain Injuries (TBI) or Mild Traumatic Brain Injuries (mTBI). What is TBI and what is mTBI?