Ten minutes ago.

My eyeballs are pulsing out of my face.
I can see individual little areas in my perception where light and the bathroom floor are swelling and receding.
My hair shakes in my periphery as my heart beats in time with my eyes like some writhing mass of maggots in my chest.
Dressed plainly in a white wifebeater and unobtrusive brown corduroy pants, I stand tall over the toilet bowl.
My vision ceases to swim, and I turn and walk back to the sinks.
My reflection in the mirror looks fine.
No ghosts over my shoulder, no blood streaming from my eyes.
I guess it was just whimsy, a momentary sleight of eye.