Apparently “devouring an 800 page novel, a bottle of 2011 Chablis and a shitload of codeine” is not the correct way to treat severe concussion. But I can assure you it’s much more fun than balancing a bag of frozen peas on my head, dragging myself to A&E and languishing on the trauma ward for the rest of the week. Mother does not know best. Father always knew what was best for me, especially when I didn’t. Books and booze cured so many of his ills. And I am my father’s daughter, after all.
Reading is hard. Sleeping is easy. Dreaming is scary. Memory is the enemy. Pain isn’t temporary.