Monday, May 11, 2009

mild synaesthetic thinks too much

squelch squerch

I'm thinking of the way so many things sneak up on you, the way every moment is your first moment, your last moment, and how the weight of the importance and the insignificance of everything teeters: important, not important, important, not important. And we never really know which was which was which until we look back, remember. Even then, how can we know? Maybe something that looks so innocuous, so simple and forgettable, was the most significant action yet.

I'm thinking of the way camping sounds like zippers. Tent, sleeping bag, backpack. The way the whole house smells a little like campfire even days after we come home. The way home sounds like overall buckles clanging in the dryer.

I'm thinking of the way I am better at burning bridges than building them, waiting for the mud to dry out instead of trudging my way through. Being good at waiting is like being good at bending your own thumb backwards to touch your own wrist, just because you can do it, doesn't mean it feels good. And overextending those joints when you're young makes for problems later and then nothing feels so painful as being patient. Wait and see.

I'm thinking of the way loud sounds flash colors when I'm tired. The dog barks Blue and the crack of our cheap ikea bed frame is White. I'm thinking of the way I know too much about everyone, the way people don't know their words drip with color and shape, the way I collect every tiny piece and clue, without meaning to, and they knit a brilliant map, so revealing I can't always make eye contact, it feels too raw and personal.

I'm thinking of the way I'm still wondering what I'll be when I grow up. And realizing that this might be it. I'm thinking how watching Dexter makes me wish I'd gone into Forensics. Imagine getting paid to think about things and put them together!

I'm thinking of the way I want to be right here as much as I want to go back to simpler days as much as I want to skip ahead to stability. But solid ground can be misleading, soil shifts and feet slip and -just like that- perspective changes and we see the whole world differently.

2 comments:

Angelina said...

This post makes me envious. Such excellent writing- so rich and vivid.

Dexter makes me wish I had gone into forensics too.

omy said...

"I'm thinking of the way loud sounds flash colors when I'm tired. The dog barks Blue and the crack of our cheap ikea bed frame is White. I'm thinking of the way I know too much about everyone, the way people don't know their words drip with color and shape, the way I collect every tiny piece and clue, without meaning to, and they knit a brilliant map, so revealing I can't always make eye contact, it feels too raw and personal."

You are a very talented lady, you know that?

I'm laughing as I type this (not because you are not talented but because the word verification I have to put in to post this is "bunko" and that makes me think of Laurie.)