…are what I’ve been dealing with for the last hour or so. I don’t normally get them, but when I do they last a long time. Everyone has a cure, but tonight I’ve sat at my computer writing and my computer couldn’t care less. In fact, this is one thing I feel certain I’m alone in trying to cure. Funny, but I’ve never realised the extent a writer is alone until I’m faced with a case of the hiccups. And there is this: the struggle with trying to end this state quietly, simply. Also funny: it’s just the hiccups (but in my mind it’s always something bigger, what if it’s this, or this, or even just simply this…). What then? Hiccups make us mortal. Or is that immortal? Actually, who can tell when the screen keeps rising, and, just as suddenly, setting? Or is that settling? Or simply it is all this: unsettling.