Thursday, June 30, 2011

"Can We Play A Game?" She Said.

Lately I have developed a tendency to internally dialogue or narrate in the third person.

"If I seem somber, it's because I was listening very closely."
Edit: "She said."

"Nestled in her hair, she finger-painted the remaining tears in semi-circles under the eye. Lulled, she thought, "This is what a whale's skin feels like." As it happened.

I think it's partially an attempt to disassociate myself from thoughts that seem excessively mopey, or at least try to make an exercise out of them. I wonder if everybody repeats their own thoughts as much as I do.

My brain's been a little odd lately.

Last night I was relentlessly aware of it as a mass, existing in my skull. I had some involuntary image projections of a gauzy, mushy mass - grey, like brains are supposed to be. Descriptors "gauzy" and "mushy" I fixated on, but I couldn't actually think of anything that exists as both gauzy and mushy... perhaps some kind of octopus?
By thinking a lot about my brain as a "thing," I also felt very in control of it. I was able to procure a really old memory, just by urging myself to "remember something new." I was also able to keep myself from crying.


I don't have too many formed feelings on the true meaning of love; the last few years have been choppy and unforgettable - both good and bad - but if I've ever felt close to having a moment in it, it was this week when I saw a common pain reliever in the bathroom cabinet, and reflexively with an ache, wished they had no pain to relieve.

There is also that night at the swings when I needed to be saved and without a doubt, I was.