AmelieStrange (ameliestrange) wrote,


Hazy and half awake, I'm lying sideways with my face pushed into a dirty pillow, listening to the low-hanging branch of the cottonwood tree outside scrape, scrape, groan, push, press into the ceiling of the trailer - creak, creak, creak. Another wave of wind goes by, CREAK, CREAK, CREAK, like a moment of passion, and then the creaks are silent again. The cat is pressing its nose into my eye socket, purring. The lights are not on. BBC news reports that in India, it is common for those with psychoses like schizophrenia and paranoia to seek the help of gurus and spiritualists - leading certain shrines to be overrun by crazy people, screaming, cursing the gods and tearing at their hair. I get out of bed, turn the lights on and close the blinds on my bedroom window, afraid for whatever reason that someone might possibly view my getting dressed in the pre-dawn light. The cat follows into the kitchen.
The gas stove lit under a mylanta-green tea kettle, I pour hot water into the oatmeal, put a lid on the container and place it into my bag. Twenty minutes later, I am in an office, staring out at the dark. Waiting for the light.
It's a reverse sunrise, seen only in terms of its relative effects. Someplace behind me, beyond walls and walls of offices, the canyon frames the actual sun. I only see the light shining on one tall sandstone cliff outside the office window, moving down, down down, until it is morning and I am no longer alone in this building. It's like Plato's allegory of the cave - and almost as sad, because if this were all I ever knew, I imagine I'd be pretty upset.
No, I have friends with neck tattoos. And former lovers who are at once lovers and criminals. No, I drive a Volvo station wagon and to some people this says something about me. The radio crackles, and people go in and out of the waves through the course of their daily routines. To some, I am afraid to call attention to myself. To some, I am intelligent and provide good conversation - however, I am in need of an impression to be made upon me. Someone is hoping to change my perceptions of homeless kittens, families in need and all the other beautiful things that need saving in this world and remind me of something along the lines of an escaped murderer sitting on the steps of a church in Cody, Wyoming. Sure, it's worth trying, and sure it's helpful. But I haven't forgotton things like mystery and the magic of radio waves, and invasions of sea snakes and sometimes I even remember to forget being self-aware all the time. Neck tattoos aside, at least I accept that I embarass myself, to an extent that I think anyone else in my position would have given up the ghost by this point.
The wind is pretty intense today and the trees in the atrium are rocking back and forth. It makes me think of sawing off a cottonwood branch and a long night sleep without the creaking on the roof like bony hands, monsters in the garden or something terrifyingly lovely calling me out to play.
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