Diaskeue (di-as-keu’-ee): Graphic peristasis (description of circumstances) intended to arouse the emotions.
I am lost again. I’m like Mary’s little lamb, only I couldn’t find the school. I could’ve wandered in front of a FEDEX truck, and maybe been served up as gruel. In a way “Road Kill” was the story of my life. I found myself in strange and unintended places all the time. Two weeks ago, I set out for the dump. I ended up at the edge of the Grand Canyon, marveling at the sunset’s painting of the canyon walls’ shadows with purple, pink, and, orange-colored light. The air was warm with an almost imperceptible breeze blowing on my face scented with sand and time. The canyon was deep, a tribute to patience and the Colorado River’s unceasing flow.
My revelry was destroyed by my car alarm going off. There was a bear rocking my little Fiat back and forth trying to score the Oreos on the front seat. I watched as he flipped over my car and it rolled over the fence into the Grand Canyon. I heard it bounce and crunch, and eventually explode as it hit the bottom of the Canyon. I thought, “That’s one hell of a bear,” as it came toward me. On its hind legs it was probably eight feet tall. I ran and hid in a nearby porta-potty. The bear rocked it back and forth a couple of times and left me there alone to figure out what to do. I called park ranger headquarters and told them what had happened. The Ranger asked me if I had Oreos in my car. When I told him yes, he said “Uh oh. There goes Ollie again. We’ll have your car retrieved by helicopter for $2,000 and assume all your possessions were destroyed in the fire.”
That afternoon I flew back to Ohio with a burning desire to overcome my getting lost malady. I explained my problem to Siri and she told me there was a “Lostologist” in my zip code. His name is Dr. Magellan and he helps people like me learn how to “stay on course.” I couldn’t even stay true to my GPS, so this sounded like I was taking the best route to a cure.
Dr. Magellan gave me a Bluetooth-enabled seat belt buckle that communicated with my cellphone’s GPS. If I started to deviate from my programmed route, it would shock the hell out of my lower torso. The buckle didn’t cure me, but it kept me on course in my car. I wore a similar device strapped to my head with an elastic headband when I was walking. It worked as well as the driving device, as long as I had my walking route programmed into my GPS, but it shot what felt like bolts of fire through my head.
I haven’t gotten lost in five years. I know where I’m going and that I’m going to get there prodded by my “Go-Shock.” I experience daily pain, but I don’t care as long as I reach my destination.
I looked up from my laptop and realized I didn’t know where I was. I had forgotten my “Go-Shock” on my walk to the park. I looked out the window and everything was in French. I would have my “Go Shock” sent by DHL tomorrow. In the meantime I’ll have my new friend Collette, who I’m sharing my room with, to keep me on course. We’re staying in my room—taking no chances on me getting lost. She told that she was going out to get coffee and croissants. I gave her my wallet. That was four hours ago and she hasn’t come back yet. Maybe she decided to get lunch instead of breakfast. I wish I could remember how we met.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
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