Something Wrong With Me

My fingers can’t stop smelling like onions or garlic.  My mouth smelled like them too, for a while.  Then I washed my mouth. I washed my mouth out.  My mouth is fine now.  It tastes like my mouth.

I am not sure why.  This thing.  The explanation would be that I did things with those things but I did not.  There was not a way with them.  I only have this buried smell.

I find myself smelling my fingers when I want to be reminded, when I want to see if it’s still there.  I put them to my face like they were just in bad places.  I close my eyes. I inhale.  I hope for clues.  The rush back of an explanation.  So far there is nothing. 

It might be disease.  A condition.  A phenomenon.  I should feel special.  Chosen. And I do.  What can you say about yourself this morning that is something you could not say yesterday?  Today, I have that.  Tomorrow I may not.  Let’s wait and see.

When the surface is clean that means it must be inside of me, right? Inside my skin.  Cellular level?  I do not understand biochemistry or things of that nature.  I just hope I am not becoming an onion or a garlic.  A big, aromatic vegetable thing.   I do not want to die that way. 

There it is again.  It’s still there.  Don’t you believe me?  Here… smell my fingers.