The meds I’m on; it’s a wonder I can put a sentence together. Once every other paragraph, I’m left struggling for words. If I’m talking to someone, I can describe what I’m looking for, and they’ll usually come up with it, but if I’m alone, I can’t go on until I figure out the word I’m looking for. That could take ten or fifteen minutes, as I will not accept substitutes.
Also, it’s getting harder for me to understand academic discussions. Now you might think that’s a good thing (I mean, do you really want to discuss the ontological discourse of Japanese tongue-wasps?), but, since it’s my livelihood, I’m a bit worried. My mind used to be able to cut to the heart of any presentation with the precision of a…. sickle? scythe? one of those really sharp knives that you use in art… exacto knife…, and now I’m lucky if I can piece together half of what they say.
Damn! If I were old enough to retire, maybe it wouldn’t matter. I could stop thinking and start being.