October 4: Magic Fingers, PTSD, Joy Harjo

Billy went into his bedroom, even though there were guests to be entertained downstairs.  He lay down on his bed, turned on the Magic Fingers.  The mattress trembled, drove a dog out from under the bed.  The dog was Spot.  Good old Spot was still alive in those days.  Spot lay down again in a corner

Billy is recovering from a moment of PTSD.  As I've said in recent posts, Slaughterhouse is a book about PTSD that masquerades as science fiction and social criticism.  Billy is unstuck in time, constantly reliving his wartime experiences.

I only have a few moments this evening for reflection, on PTSD or war or science fiction.  All of those subjects are up for grabs with this little passage.  However, in a little over an hour, I will be teaching my evening class.  First semester composition.  Three hours and some minutes long.  I still need to eat dinner, meet with a colleague about online teaching, and carry some books out to my car. 

This week has been flying by.  Tomorrow is Saint Marty's Day.  Tapioca and Diet Mountain Dew for everyone.  My holiday celebration is going to include a Joy Harjo poetry reading, followed by a Joy Harjo book signing.  At the moment, however, I'm so tired that I feel like I could fall asleep right now and not wake up until next October 5th. 

If I had a bed with Magic Fingers, I would flip the switch, lay down, and let my mattress tremble me to oblivion.

Saint Marty is thankful tonight for caffeine and pizza.