The second you find yourself thinking about whether or not a sneeze will persist, it won't. Inevitably, that cognizance ruins the momentum--as does an awareness with most remaining important things.
Now that I had lost my ability to carry out the simple act--an act that I had deemed a nuisance for the first two decades of my life when it had come naturally to me--I was shit out of luck.
It was ubiquitous, unbecoming, and disgusting--but it was inexorable to say the least.
Triggers abound, I was in the most awkward of states. Waiting. Waiting. There was nothing worse than waiting. Except death--yes, that was worse. No--even in death, I wouldn't be waiting. So waiting was worse.
And like that--in my newfound state of schizophrenia--I forgot the superstition and the--
"Achoo!"
It just came forth. From the west-southwest at 12.
I was none the wiser. As it turns out, there's an art and a sickness to being absentminded.
Gazuntite!!!!
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