not sleeping anymore

where is my mind

I love the sound of my boots on pavement, on stone, on brick, on concrete sidewalks and chilled corridors, on the speckled ceramic lining of this 30- year- old building. Rhythmic clicking, clacking, scuffing (I always scuff), scraping feels consistent and persistent. Like the sturdy hand of a clock, I’m back.

I can’t be sure where I’m back from- so I regret that I won’t be sharing that with you. I can’t be sure exactly how long I was gone or even where I am now, in other words, where exactly “back” is. I only know objects, pictures, sounds all seemed different there. I felt restless, often angry, and mostly void. Earlier today (before I got back) during my morning commute, in the dinner table of my mind, conversation carried about as follows:

- I now see why different paint brushes might be necessary for different types of paint. Oils are very different from acrylics. I wonder how long it will take for that picture I painted last night to dry...
- why didn’t you ever take a painting class when you were in college? better yet, why the hell didn’t you ever ask any of your absurdly talented painter friends questions? hey, why didn’t you just watch someone paint? shit, your grandma was an artist- why didn't you ask her ?
- I think I just felt stupid. that’s it. that, and I guess I was just as focused on science and school then as I am now, those things probably seemed frivolous.
- what if I became this great painter (and by great I mean that I just painted tons of pictures to fill my house)?
- what if you never make it as a scientist?
- what if I can’t get enough focus to complete one task in life and I never make it as anything?
- what if you hit that car?
- SHIT (I almost hit that car)

Shortly after 3 pm I came back.
I was listening to the story of the action potential- all that is at the very root of neural communication. I was fascinated by my own fascination and by the fact that no matter how many times I hear that story- I will always love it. Then, the action potential made me feel comfortable in my boots- which just then had gotten a little itchy.
The dinner table of my mind faded into an espresso bar, where, hair bunned, glasses bent, I postulated thin air:
- is it possible that a sound (such as boots on stone) can actually make one feel more accomplished?
- as humans, have we evolved so much in the last thousand years that we are no longer able to relate ( I mean deeply, not superficially) to the perceptions of our ancestors, much in the same way that we can't currently relate to the perceptions of a monkey?
- toilet bowls and fine china: both porcelain… interesting

it's good to be home. even when it's not quite clear where that is.

posted by d @ 4:54 PM