I can feel my muscles playing their music.
I know that Paulsen is dancing to their rhythm, that he’s moving and grooving inside my skin, inside the shell that is my body.
It makes me wish I knew how to dance; that I knew how to tango or tap dance or move to my own groove. Every time Paulsen would dance, I could fight him with fire, with my own dancing.
Although the idea of dancing in public every time a seisure comes upon me is enough to squeltch that idea.