discordant ovenbird Terror wakes me in the middle of the night. Fighting waves of nausea I wonder if my body is rebelling against the single gin and tonic I risked before dinner. Nothing feels right. There is a buzzing under my skin that I’m sure is a million tiny insects writhing. I check the pulse that beats right below the hinge of my jaw to confirm that I’m not actively dying. But how would I really know? My heart won’t tell me when it plans to execute its last beat. It’s holding that information hostage. I hum to myself a little as a distraction, let the vibration settle in my chest. When I close my eyes, scraps of discordant music rise up in my mind and I can see the shapes the sound makes. This isn’t comforting. It’s my brain trying to run away from itself, screaming when jaws clamp down on its hind leg and shake hard enough to snap bone. 250512 what's it to you? who go blather from