Moonstruck Musings of A Painter

This mornings' chilly sunrise found me snuggled into my favorite chair. I bought it with my own money when I was 12 years old, and haggled the thrift shop owner from $50 down to 35. It was my first piece of furniture and has been one of the few constant things since then. It's an unremarkable rocking chair; leather cushion seat cracked with age, It's Oak arms scored with the scratches and dents from careless play and a dozen moves. Its springs creak and groan in protest, but never fail to rock my mind to a quieter state. I've been taking my meds, getting sleep, reducing stress, but my mind has been racing. The thoughts fly by too fast for me to grasp. I snagged a few here and there when I'm struck by the beauty of a moment, but before I can write it down or audio record it to remember it, they slip away as though they've never been there; mirror holes in my mind where a memory should be. This comes at a time when my post concussion syndrome symptoms have come ba