From my bedroom window I can see three majestic trees, their silhouettes looming large in my familiar and treasured view. Right now it’s the very end of dusk and they’ve almost vanished into the darkness.
But while they might be out of sight, they’re certainly not out of mind because my tics have unexpectedly gone on a tree-based rant:
“Expert-trees or Board of Trust Trees? Choose.”
“Trick or Tree? Choose.”
“Eat your peas tree.”
“Tree-pee or tree-some? Choose.”
“You’re such a tree sleaze, tree.”
“Strip-trees or Socra-trees? Choose.”
“No one likes Tree-peasement.”
At moments like this I feel very lucky to have Tourettes. My tics notice things I’m sure would otherwise pass me by and I wouldn’t want to wish away a single surreal surprise such as this.
I’ve got no idea how or why my tics make these connections, but they come out fast and full of delight. After several weeks heavy with pain it seems right to recognise and mark this moment of lightness and joy.
Thank you trees.