Visit to Shoegaze

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The message I would like to impart today is while I can do things – I don’t always have to do them.  While I want to do certain things, I can’t always actually do them, either.  Flying.  Breathing through my nose. Et cetera.

Somewhere in the middle is the shit that actually happens.  The life that actually gets lead.

My head is filled with snot.  The pressure of which is bugging out my eyes and making them leak tears against my will.  My throat is raw.  I have one night and one day to get this under control.  One morning that doesn’t have an alarm clock to be set against it.  One  day to melt into covers and seep into beds and settle into floorboards, one day to reconstitute in my bucket.

It is a lot to ask of a body when that body is doing the best it can – when the body already got up, got her boots on, and went to work and suffered through until her misery, forty-five minutes early, was appreciated and sent her, squinty-eyed and mouth-breathing as she was, home to bed.

The body is, as ever, going to try.  I do find that beautiful of her.  I do appreciate her for that, even if I think she’s always on her last leg, she is trying to come through for me to help me keep my word.  Aww, body.  You ain’t so bad.

And mind, you’re not so awful, even though you send burning daggers through me when I turn my neck wrong.  You also let me dream about Shoegaze, the magical village where everyone lives in shoe-shaped tiny buildings along the shoreline where the road curves and it looks like somewhere near Seattle.    My friend was there, driving competently and comfortingly around the hairpin curves that lead you into the coastal life in Shoegaze.  It is a tourist destination, but it’s also a real imaginary place with a real imaginary library (the true portal that makes it so) and people do live there, not just old women with an excess of children, even though I do see an excess of children making sandcastles in the wet sand along the shoes.

My lips burn like fire.  My gums feel as though I’ve been chewing on glass.   But for a moment’s recollection, it was very lovely to be in Shoegaze, USA.

Add to this other nice moments – having the work I did yesterday translate into actual big sales today for the store which made everyone happier there, sitting in the restaurant eating the hamburger I could only taste 10% of as the rest of my taste buds were eroded by this cruel malady and reading the drink menu and thinking about nothing at all, and this idea that maybe something could be something small and enough.

Somebody asked me what’s in the sack and I was the idiot who looked. I was the idiot who took the punch.  But I was also the idiot who saw the nothingness and discerned it from the anything else it might have been.

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