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Focus (standard:drama, 1488 words)
Author: mykemykAdded: Jun 25 2005Views/Reads: 1881/1115Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
The mind is a complicated piece of machinery. Most are happy to keep it polished and well oiled. Some cannot keep from tinkering with it...tweeking the point it no longer runs as it was designed. For those, the journey we call life can be a fright

The clock on the nightstand said 5:45 a.m. I had not set it the night
before...I had intended to oversleep...just as I'd done the previous 
four days of the week. Instead, I had been awakened by the absence of 
darkness.Daylight had, somehow, managed to sneak past my tightly closed 

Once up, I dressed quickly...trying to trick my subconcious into
believing I was actually excited at the prospects of getting help. I 
had agreed to therapy, although I saw it as being nothing more than an 
exercise in futility. Yes, for years, I have gone days without 
talking...consciously choosing my own company over that of others. That 
being a "given", why would I go anywhere to "talk" to anyone about not 
"talking"? Did my wife really think that, once seated before a licensed 
"mechanic of the brain", I would be able to say, "It starts with a sort 
of humming sound...then "Ka-chink, Ka-chink", and my brain suddenly 
sputters and quits?" 

As I drove along the interstate, I made another valiant attempt to
convince myself that I was, indeed, doing the right thing. I had 
absolutely no idea what to expect. Would my therapy be like a "bad 
episode" of The Bob Newhart Show...would "Jerry The Dentist" poke his 
head in during the session and ask how soon "Doctor Bob" would be done 
so they could go to lunch? Would I sit beside an old man with spittle 
running down the side of his face? 

Out of habit, I began to script a scenario, a little something to help
keep my mind off the fiasco I was about to find myself in the middle 
of. In it, I play the part of a "textbook patient" who has, after 
considerable coaxing, agreed to give a brief presentation to a group of 
doctors and therapists that have traveled the globe in search of such 
an experience. 

I see myself walking into a large conference room. One long table runs
the length of the entire room. On both sides of the table are chairs. 
With every seat taken, others have lined the walls of the room. As I 
step to the podium sitting at the head of the table, I clear my throat 
to begin. 

"The inability to focus is an acquired taste. For most, it is easier to
accept whatever activity presses itself against the pane of our 
psyche...clamoring for attention...begging for acknowledgement and 
acceptance. From the beginning, I knew I was the exception, rather than 
the rule. 

As a child, my mother hated waking me. It was not that I refused to
awaken...for I have always been an abnormally light sleeper. She 
detested having to leave the kitchen, walk to the foot of the stairs, 
and repeatedly call out to me. I learned, after a while, to simply 
allow one leg to escape the covers, long enough to drop my foot, 
heavily, on the floor...feigning activity. Usually, it was enough to 
slow her trips from the kitchen. 

As an adult, I learned to use the same sort of process...a glance,
thrown in the direction of those speaking to me...a raised brow, as if 
what they were saying had peaked my mind simply “dropping 
a foot on the floor”...the reality being that my mind and thoughts were 
still lying under the covers. 

Looking back, I find myself honestly amazed at how popular I was, while
keeping so much of myself hidden. It was not that I feared people 
knowing was, and is, that I simply do not have the interest, or 
the desire, to be known. 

I wish, for the sake of interest, I could say that life, at times, has
been a struggle. Of course, I could...but, I would be lying...and, I am 
now trying to be completely honest. I find it amusing that my “lack” of 
focus has, on many occasions, been seen as being “driven” to succeed at 
whatever task lay before me. As a teen, the girls saw me as one who was 
sensitive and ready to listen to what they had to say. I was not like 
other boys they had dated...I did no bragging...I did nothing to try to 
gain their interest. The next move was always up to them. 

The first girl I was ever with did everything but put my member inside
her. We kissed until my lips were chapped...all the while; she kept 
telling me we would have to stop before we ended up going too far. As I 

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