A good many persons of both sexes have put into writing the mental confusion usually concomitant to the process of "coming to." The descriptions which I've happened to read were done by good writers, certainly; but the writers don't impress me now as people who'd been personally hit on the head. At least, they lacked treatment under the hand of a pluperfect, postgraduate performer upon the medulla oblongata.
The trouble with those descriptions is that they are too advanced and intricate. The subject generally is seized with some figurative image, which is quite all right from my experience; but whereas others seem to have come to consciousness through flights of fancy similar to stanzas in "Spoon River Anthology" or Carl Sandberg's best, I woke up repeating to myself the simplest of verse. In fact:
