The doctors can tell a lot about you by what you see in an inkblot. Depending on your disposition, even a coffee stain can delight or disgust. Same with each day's complexion. A thunderhead can suggest a monster, the onset of rain signal either relief or a season of morbidity. I guess I've always been an optimist, because I see the good in most things, always took to change with a bright eye. Just my nature, I guess.
In the blots they show me I see doorways.
For the past month something's been taking over, shifting incrementally. I don't care what the doctors may tell you. What might have been called mine is fading into quite something else. Anyone else might think they were going mad.
But for me, I trust it, like a change in the weather. And just like the onset of a season, the first harbingers announced themselves in tiny ways, hardly even noticeable. Looking back I can say it started around November, the time of the Leonid shower, when the sky is dripping with falling stars. After those nights the porch was covered with a fine yellow dust, like pollen. I think that's how it got in.
About the same time I began to notice the mold spreading in the corners of the house. It was impossible to keep up with. You'd scrub away at it in the morning, and by supper it would be back. I scrubbed until my hands were raw.
