Except for all the connected problems that go with fever, I sorta like em. One aspect of them anyhow. Brain thinks up some weird scenarios when the scalp is burning. Dreams become so twisted that I'm not allowed to remember them. Can only sit up exhausted in the bed sweaty and stunned.

I enjoy otherworldy visions. Always have. Surely constant hallucinations would become boring or maddening. I surplant myself in trance states whenever possible though. Bought me a ticket to a therapist's couch when I was a lad.

Fairly certain I have written a discourse on my self imposed hallucinations. Parents worried sick, teachers too. Several clandestine meetings not normally scheduled with the PTA. So what if I make little movies up in my head, complete with sound effects, and maniacal hand motions directing the action? That boy is touched.

Surprised the folks didn't get the pastors involved. Luckily they are rational beings. Thankfully they threw out a demonic possession possibility. Lutherans aren't really known for flailing about the holy water anyway.

Came up with a term for this behavior. Called it pizh-ah-lizh-ah-lizh. Don't even know how to type it out phonetically for you folks. Ma enjoyed my alter-terms for stuff. She would chime right in. "Spanky! Enough of that pizh-ah-lizh-ah-lizh." She was one of the few people that could snap me out of it. It would go deep.

See, I would find a quiet spot. Well, actually the sound of a vacuum or certain fast paced music would help things along as background soundtrack. I needed a stick of some sort. Usually a moderately weighted pencil ( Blackfoot Indian pencils I found to be the best ) with the tip snapped off so I wouldn't accidentally stab myself. I have a few graphite dot "tattoos" in my palms to this day. Usually lying on my back, but seated upright would work. And then I would start making visuals up in back of my eyes.

I seemed to need the physical connection of a stick like object in my hands to make it seem real. The pencil would transmogrify into a wizard's staff or a space vehicle in my mind. Masterful mimicry of a large catalogue of sounds and voices helped flesh out the action and characters. And would freak anyone out near me who had to listen to what seemed like a spastic collection of explosions and cartoon animal grunts loudly passing my lips.

I was desperately frightened that people would take it away from me. Figures of authority were constantly squashing my good mental time. I knew they wanted the strange behavior to end. I would surely have become a jittery mess if they succeeded. I held therapists and other advisors at arm lengths. Refused medication. Step away from the spanky. He needs to enact what you call troublesome blurting.

To this day I need a pen or chopstick in my hand to figure things out or create new stories. Fortunately it seems that a keyboard fulfills the tactile need to develop my creativity.

I rarely go into those loud trances anymore. I suppose shame has much to do with that. Being shunned by other kids and seeing witch hunt like glares in adult's eyes conditioned me to keep it internal and secret. Being alone in a room, flying on green lantern power has a tendency to bring it out of me. Any wonder I like pot?

Feverish. Yeah, feverish just opens up that floodwall. Can be a quivering puddle of sick, barely strength enough to sip herbal tea. But, the brain on fever goes into wilding mode. The rest of my body can bitch, my brain has some fun with the fever.