My editor, lover, lifesaver and cat-claw-clipper noted that Monday’s post was particularly dense. I chose to interpret this as a mostly good thing, and this turned out to be the correct call when she added that it probably contained enough material for a couple of weeks’ worth of posts.

Fortunately, there’s a lot going on in the world, of strokey and not-so-strokey natures. From my introduction to Vilayanur S. Ramachandran’s Phantoms In The Brain to the ongoing NSA surveillance revelations (and how Wang Dong will react); from how non-invasive brain stimulation is being used to help patients with walking impairments to the maleficent spread of the craft beer plague around the world.

All this stuff will be considered in due course. But for now, there’s a lot going on, whether it’s preparing for the move, the tiredness of my stroke arm, or my plans for annexing Rockall by a means more ludicrous than post-it affixation.

Actually, that’s going to be pretty difficult, isn’t it? Not the annexation part.

So, till Monday, here’s a list post….

Ten Favourite Stroke Bloke Hospital Tweets

These aren’t selected by any particular criteria. Just general personal preference, whether that considers humour, strength of the memory, or any other criteria I choose. If they occur in the first four days of post-stroke tweeting, all the better. That’ll cut back on prep time.

ONE gets in because it’s the first tweet. I tweeted 26 times on November 4, around about the time I was deemed sufficiently compus mentis to get my phone back. I still misplaced it dozens of times a day. Nevertheless, if my friends could read my tweet about some whimsical thing I had learned about strokes, I would have some presence in the outside world. And if I had some presence in the outside world, then I would have asserted my continuing existence. Even if I was too spazzed out to tell the difference between “Harney” and “Barney”.

@bethmonahan I tend to find that hospital breakfast is immeasurably improved by a cup of Barney & Sons Royal English Breakfast [black] Tea.

— Ricky Brown (@ricky_ballboy) November 4, 2012

The orderly who took me for my morning showers provided most of my early post-stroke material, including numbers TWO and THREE below. Tenko got his name from the 1980s BBC drama set in a Japanese internment camp. I was equal parts scared to death of him, and touched by the job he did. (Both the job he did, and how he occasionally would do it with kindness.)

Tenko wheels me into the bathroom and cheerily indicates I can piss on the floor.

— Ricky Brown (@ricky_ballboy) November 5, 2012

… before heading into the corridor to look for heavy objects that won’t leave a mark when wrapped in a towel.

— Ricky Brown (@ricky_ballboy) November 5, 2012

Soon after getting my phone back, my reintroduction to the human race was continued when I was allowed to wear big boy clothes, as evidenced by FOUR and FIVE.

Showered, dressed, breakfasted, @bethmonahan ed. A good morning. If one can overlook that I’m dressed like a member of Ned’s Atomic Dustbin.

— Ricky Brown (@ricky_ballboy) November 6, 2012

@bethmonahan Not an insult, given that, left to my own devices, I would have gone for early Suede.

— Ricky Brown (@ricky_ballboy) November 6, 2012

After I’d squeezed everything I could out of Tenko, the Wee Man made his first appearance in tweets SIX and SEVEN. Another fellow inmate for whom I had confused feelings….

Uh-oh. Early indications that my admittedly lovable roommate is feeling ornery today.

— Ricky Brown (@ricky_ballboy) November 6, 2012

The flirtfest is in full swing at Rusk, as roomie declares nurse to be his future wife.

— Ricky Brown (@ricky_ballboy) November 6, 2012

Then, the epic struggle to get real food began. Note that, while the short-term memory is still effed at this stage, I can still, in tweet EIGHT and NINE, reference a classic British sitcom first broadcast on 23 June, 1961.

Replaced word “soft” with “sautéed” on all my hospital menus…

— Ricky Brown (@ricky_ballboy) November 6, 2012

Seems less confrontational than scrawling “I didn’t break my jaw!!!” in my own blood. Also, three exclamation marks is half-an-armful.

— Ricky Brown (@ricky_ballboy) November 6, 2012

Eventually, I could eat proper food again, when @baconpaul brought in his lovely homemade bread. But my struggles continued in TEN….

Nurse eying metal butter knife suspiciously again. I don’t even know where this hospital’s cockpit is.

— Ricky Brown (@ricky_ballboy) November 7, 2012

I’ve enjoyed skimming through these early tweets. Pretty amusing, I think, given that a few days previously I couldn’t even remember whether I’d had one or two strokes. And it’s striking how much of it, as I look at it now, looks like a guy trying to rebuild himself out of memories, whether old TV shows like Tenko and Hancock’s Half Hour, or favoured indie bands.

I suppose who we are is built from our memories. And Brooklyn will always be with us.