Emotional time bombs.
A very odd thing happened to me today. I was on the porch of my hotel room overlooking the Atlantic, and I was reading a book called First Person Plural, by Cameron West, when my mood just plummeted.
The book's author has multiple personalities, and it chronicles his journey from first becoming aware of the problem to, well, I'm not sure, because I haven't finished it yet.
The passage that pulled the ground out from under me described a scene in which Cameron West was pulled over for speeding, but by the time the cops got to his door, one of his "alters" had popped to the fore, and before long, everyone was completely confused. First, the alter was a little kid, not a grown-up, so when the cops asked for a driver's license he barely knew what they were talking about. Then the cops sensed that maybe their man had a little bit of the captain in him, so they gave him a breathalyzer test. Nada. Finally, someone called his wife (the author is married). She arrived and took him home, where he broke down for being such a nut and she comforted him.
My situation is not nearly as bad, but, there have been many, many times when Catherine, my wife, has had to escort me from restaurants, explain to passers-by that even though i was lying on the pavement I was fine, cancel things important to her to deal with me, and on and on and on. Sure, life is better now, but it's still not what it once was and might never be again. And as I read the passage described above, this lurking knowledge that not only have I been severely altered by my injury, but also I'm not the only one it affects, popped to the fore like one of Cameron's "alters".
Thankfully, Catherine was right there when it happened, saw the change immediately, and reassured me as best she could. Several hours have passed, and I'm back on an even keel and looking forward to dinner, but the little emotional bomb that went off today wasn't the first and won't be the last. Best case scenario: it'll be the last one during this trip.