Around here, there's always an option: vacuum the carpet or tear it up.
But after tearing it up there's always the realization that you have to actually sweep the floors occasionally or else the tumbleweeds of dog and cat hair will roll in your wake and you will be followed by an ethereal spaghetti western sound track.
It is best to keep the hands as busy as the mind.
Today was a day of niggling memories. The kind of memories that curl like cigarette smoke, in one ear, swirling through the canyons and ridges of your brain, reminding you that you have been watching waaaayy to much of the Ken Burns documentary lately and no, the Grand Canyon of Yosemite is not your brain and frankly, health care for all would be America's REAL best idea.
That's the thing about memories. One little thought. One marble released into the game and you're off. You bounce from one thought to the next, never stopping, never connecting A to B and never realizing that where you are right now is a direct product of "going there" an hour ago.
Memory begets thought. Thought begets thought. Thought begets another thought.
It is hard to connect the dots because by doing so, it leads back to the beginning. The memory. The initiation of this pinball game. This mind storm. This vortex.
The beginning is always the hardest place to go.
The center of it all is where the monsters live.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment