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This will not be a 100-word entry. This is a message in a bottle to myself. I have asked for a small amount of time here to sit in the corner and collect myself. Sometimes I need that. I need to sit still and let my mind catch up to itself. I hear a bird call and I hear in my mind my motherís voice saying the word, ďStarling.Ē My brain is filled with these names for birds and plants and bugs and I donít know which species any given name goes with. My brain is full of these holes.
I am working on May. I have been thinking about how full of holes my brain is. I have been thinking about how spotty perception is. I believe that my experience is not unique. Pretty much every time I start thinking of myself as unique I get brought up short. So it must be that our perception is spotty and full of holes. Our knowledge and memory are full of holes. What we see is full of holes. What we hear and taste is full of holes and what we are able to think is full of gaps and holes.
Is this where I am. A car slides by on the other side of the park and grass climbs the fence. Is this where I am. The pendulum swings in the clock and I hear a woman singing. I see wind chimes hanging from a tree and swinging slowly in the wind. Is this where I am. I feel something climbing in my chest and something weighing down my eyes. I see the frames of my glasses in my view of the world. I see pillows on the couch and a painting on the wall. Is this where I am.
I have time here. Itís no big deal if I take some time before I get started with my work. I can pretend I am talking to my sister. I can pretend I am talking to God. Does it matter to whom I talk so long as I do talk? I have learned to amaze myself again. I realize that it is not only I who have such limited perception and such faulty thinking. Everyone has similar limitations. We all have holes in our brains where continents fall through. Why does this surprise me so? It should have been obvious.
I hear you moving downstairs. I am afraid to go down. I am afraid of so many things. For example I am afraid to go into the basement. There is something with my eyes. There is never enough light any more. The eye doctor says I am ok, but the regular doctor said to go back to the eye doctor. Getting old is one doctor appointment after another. They just never stop. In a little bit I will go down to shower. But for now I will stay here. I will type words on the computer and listen to music.
This is a good morning to make the list of things to do, to perhaps even make the schedule. I do not have to stick to the schedule. I merely have to make it and use it as a guide. It is a good day because so far today there are open spaces of time in my day. I have time to do things I put on the schedule. There are so many things I can do. The important thing is to not get overwhelmed by the possibilities. I will pick them one at a time and knock them off.
I am going to run the vacuum cleaner. I have been putting it off for nearly a week now. I am determined to finally do it. It is not so difficult a thing to do. The main difficulty is that this is a small space. A second difficulty is that the cord for the vacuum cleaner is rather short and the plugs are difficult to reach. But I know how to do this. I have dealt with this before. The activity will be good for me. Almost all activity is. Once I finish I will have a feeling of accomplishment.
I read the news and it is all about Donald Trump. Well not all of it but it is not unusual for three or four of the top ten stories to feature his name or picture. It makes you wonder what the news is about if so much of it is about one man. I would ask what he is running for except he has made that clear. There is so much else I could say, but it has been said again and again such that I have begun to avoid news stories about him. Now even my 100 words.
Well, here I am waiting to call my son. I usually wait until exactly eleven oíclock to call, four oíclock his time. It is how I am. Exactly on time. Painfully on time. I dial early. It is just a little early, perhaps three minutes. I have a feeling my son will not answer today. It is almost a relief because I have so little to talk about. I could google what to talk about. Google gives a list of fifty things to talk about. Well, not Google itself, but the article Google finds. The list is not particularly useful.
Memory is a spotty and scary thing. I type this as my jaw spasms and bites my tongue which has already been bitten once today. I am assailed by spotty and scary memories and I do not understand what they are for nor why I am given them. They come at me unbidden, out of a general fog. I wonder if I only had memories that I called up, what memories would I then have? When I try to call up specific memories, they do not respond. They are like badly trained dogs who only come when it is suppertime.
Itís a hopeful last call as the lights flicker and dim and the day goes rattle starry down a narrow street, dogs barking behind. The lame darkness creeps in. Perhaps it has been there all along and we just notice it more as it grows more concentrated. Darkness follows us during the day, around the periphery of our vision, in our footsteps dogging us at our backs, beneath the soles of our feet. How claustrophobic we might feel if we could suddenly look up and see the darkness all at once, know ourselves swaddled in its damp and close embrace.
The dog with the red tongue stands at the door. He climbs up on the screen, leaning in against the shadow cast by the eve of the building. The screen stretches around his paws, pulling against the spline. The dog squints against the sun, his small sharp teeth glistening. Soon he will wander off. Perhaps he wants me to come out and pet him. Who can say what thoughts run through the mind of a dog. Some would suggest that there are no thoughts at all. They might claim a stream of perceptions, scents and perhaps the sunís warm hand.
Well Word just opened itself for me. Probably not a bad thing as I have been compulsively reading news stories again. This is not unusual as I tend toward compulsive behaviors. It is one of the things I have been gifted with, most likely at birth. When such things are eliminated from the human genome we will have a much less happy population. Pupulation? Will we have a population at that point? The pupulation has exceeded 75% and we are well on our way to have a pupulate nation. This spell checker will not let me type pupulation. Freedom wilts.
I think I usually avoid politics. As I type this I remember a recent 100-words entry where I wrote something about Donald Trump. However, I could claim that that is about entertainment, not politics. That is not the case though because my motivation to write about him is political. He is invading my politics. I did not ask to have him there. He scares me in the way he scares so many other people. He seems to have a disregard for freedom. I fear him as a leader and I fear what he may do when he gains real power.
It snowed this morning. All that sky and snow too. All those trips to the nursery and now you are covering plants with plastic and such. The TV news warned of more frost for tonight. It may yet be a meager spring for flowers. Perhaps we should get the smudge pots working. I never did understand how smudge pots could possibly keep fruit trees safe in frost but apparently they do work somehow. I had visions of the dense smoke holding in heat but I doubt that is how they work. Another job for Google? Go figure. I was right.
Iím taking a turn, walking through a field of flowers. Wildflowers are starting to move over the plowed earth where the plane went down. You canít look away from the thought of the face in the airplaneís window. It seems that many people know they are going to die before they do and are able to look out a window and see death rushing toward them. Maybe it happens too quickly for them to realize. The rest of us know. We know years or decades before it happens. We can look out our eyes and see it rushing toward us.
Ok, itís almost 3 oíclock. It seems that I was going to start something at 3 oíclock. It could have been one of two things. It might have been piano practice or it might have been setting up my teaching schedule for Monday morning. Either one would be a good use of my time just now. I am putting these things off now. I have been putting a lot of things off lately. I should consider putting my nose to the grindstone and getting down to business. Yes, all of that stuff. Iíve been listening to music. Iíve been thinking.
We are going away this weekend. We will be travelling some 700 miles by car. I am a bit nervous about this. But then I am nervous about a lot of stuff. I have been thinking about taking my laptop with me. You advise against it saying I will not have time to use it. I am thinking of the things I could get done if I had any time. I could take my old laptop. That would reduce my risk somewhat. Now that I think about it, there is a lot of risk involved in travelling with a laptop.
The time is closer than I had thought. I suppose I should climb into my day. I would avoid it for a few minutes more. I would feel the breeze through the window on my cheek and watch the play of the leaves. They brought my father home from the nursing home. He too watches the leaves. He says he could not see any leaves in the nursing home; he had no windows there. There are so many things to be afraid of. People say there is nothing to be afraid of but they donít know the windowless nursing home.
I remember the steel blue sunlight behind closed eyelids rushing out at me over summer lawns. I lay hidden there and basking in the warmth that crept through my body. The rush of a breeze shoving at my side. I could even feel a curl moving against my forehead. I was there. I am there. I am of a million pliant things and memories. These memories are dumped at random one after another, piled up in a dozen boxes in a dark place. I take them out and sort through them. They are broken fragments of things that once were.
I think I have figured out how to make the Bluetooth work. At least I have figured it out for my laptop. I think is an important part of that statement. I have been struggling with Bluetooth for nearly a decade now and I donít understand how such a pervasive technology can still work so badly. I have finally gotten it to work with my phone and the earwig. I suppose that is what it is meant for, except I cannot connect my stereo reliably via iPhone. And I am on my third generation of music receiver for the stereo.
It feels like rain. Looking out the window, I think I can see rain falling. I can almost feel it hitting my face where I sit in here. You are shopping for houses in your on-again off-again home buying fever. I cannot keep up. I suppose I should try since I am liable to be quickly drawn into something. Hopefully Iíll be vocal enough about what I want and donít want. I suppose my preferences are not that strong. There are some things I want to stay away from. The one house you were looking at was a money pit.
I figure I have ten minutes before I need to worry about starting dinner. It doesnít look like I will be going for a walk tonight. Later is a possibility I suppose, but it is looking too much like rain just now. Corn on the cob and hamburgers is what is on the dinner menu. I might even get the burgers on the grill if the rain gives me a break. Iím not so very hungry. I ate lunch around 2 p.m. this afternoon. I suppose the glass half-full view of that is I wonít eat so much for dinner.
My eyes feel a little cloudy lately. Itís one of those things that scare me. Too many things are on that list. I know that. I have turned on the air conditioner. Itís not that warm but the humidity feels high. There is not so much to say other than that. I wound the clock. That has to be done every five days or so I believe. I have never paid enough attention to it to know for sure. I could ask. Perhaps that would be a good thing. It would be somewhat distracting. You could use a good distraction.
Itís drawn in close, the left arm. Itís all dull ache. Itís been winged out for I donít know, maybe six months now. I tried physical therapy. No go. The clock gambit worked. You are nearly happy now. I too have settled out, preening my feathers after lunch for nearly a half hour. It is small in here, hard to waddle between the tables. Life on your feet is hard. I suppose you think it is not so bad because we are used to it. Not true. Simply not true. Iím sure it is somehow all tied into our short lifespans.
Oh wee timorous and shivering beastie. What a panic is in thy breastie. I hear the drums through the padded cans strapped to my head. It is clearly something that works sort of. It is clearly something that doesnít work? What about it doesnít work? A saw tooth wave generator. I imagine that is what it is. It sounds like a saw tooth cutting through wood. The waveform looks like a saw tooth. That is what I imagine for it. And now I am sleepy. I see you are too. We are drifting off beneath light covers dreaming the moon.
It looks to be a cold day for summer. I donít think the temperature has dropped that much but I seem to have become a cold-blooded kind of individual. Iím not sure how we can think of ourselves as individuals when there are a billion or so of us on the planet. Not like we are ants scrambling around in the trillions although we must seem like ants when viewed from a larger perspective. The size thing. Itís all relative. It depends on who your relatives are? The plastic flowers on the deck are yielding radiation. They will turn purple.
I lifted the chair up ripping the laptop cord out of the wall. I donít know how many times the laptop can take that kind of abuse. They have limited useful lifespans. So many things are that way and must be replaced depleting our financial reserves. At some point we will have to make decisions. Do we want health care or a new car? Perhaps by then it will not be a hard decision because by then we will not be able to drive. We will be too old and infirm. We will have no use for said new car.
I am constantly ducking or dodging this way and that. Iím expecting to get hit. I can even feel the force of the blow up against the side of my head. I can feel the sting and the bash against my brain. I donít know what made me this way. I have this construct that my mother had a rage problem. I have few specific memories to back this up, just general fuzzy impressions. And there are a few videos I play in my head. How real they are I donít know. These internal videos are notorious for being unreliable.
I could describe the painting on the wall. It is abstract something. Maybe. Maybe it has another name. Constructionist. Decorative. It is lines, rectangles and circles. A few arcs with everything tastefully shaded. You like art and have it everywhere. Different degrees of art said he with an air of snobbery. Slobbery. Snottery. That is what we are. We are so lucky we donít have to wake up every morning and worry about being eaten. Not so lucky that we get to wake up and worry in the first place. Except in Florida. People are eaten there. They have reptiles.
I hear the thunder rolling far off and then closer. There is the patter of rain on plastic. How life has changed just in my lifetime. We have gone from pot metal and Bakelite to plastics everywhere. I suppose Bakelite was plastic, just a more primitive form of plastic. People collect it now. The rain drops sound large against the grill cover, against the umbrella, against the deck rail. The last deck I built had a vertical rail. This deck has a horizontal rail. I think I will not be building any more decks. I seem to be old now.
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