In Transit

There are times when every day feels a little less clear than the day before.  When we've run out of reasons and all we can ask ourselves is, "how do I live a life that is me?" A question met only with the quiet hum of an empty room.  Good thing time is transient.


the more lost we become, the larger the realm of possibility grows
difficult and frustrating as it may be to forge a path through that realm
the existence of possibility is the guarantee of tomorrow
take heart from that and stand up to the challenge
however you travel through your own confusion, move forever in that which is new
leave yesterday behind and make your own tomorrow

A.D.D. (aka: Animated Devious Distractions)

A.D.D. is pinpoints of light refracted off a prism onto outer surfaces of your conscious.

Like a cat, you leap--wanting to capture one long enough to examine the elusive creatures.  To loose the mystery.

Being nothing but a second-hand image of itself, the light that could be your thought slips carefree away.

Gain dominance over these dancing imps and voila!  Focus.

Attempt to focus #1: Stalk one point of light pretending that the others don't even exist.
careful. slowly. eyes on the prize--
                                                                                     --something moved over there!

fail.

Attempt to focus #2: Okay okay, there is too much refraction. dim the lights and concentrate on what's in front of you.
Darkness creeps in. The peripheral lights scurry together to form a group and in hushed tones discuss how to handle the situation.
[hushed]
just white noise.  you can work with white noise......

Voices rise, now they're arguing angrily and vying for the attention of the group.  The only one listening to anyone is you and you're listening to everyone.

fail.

Attempt to focus #3: The noise has gotten out of hand.  Crank up the music and drown 'em out.
Heart beats. Fingers type. Sentence one SUCCESS! sentence two...

... what, you thought you could pull a thought out of period space space?  Looks like you didn't pull fast enough and now the whole gang's onto your shenanigans.
"Phsss.  Ignore us?!"  They cry (for once, unanimous).  I'm more important than...and it crumbles back into the cacophony of angry voices.

fail.

Flip the lights back on. Sit back. Exjoy the ride.  Your cranial hybrid of work+play is battling over whose turn it is to power the system.  You're just the body.  Control?  Maybe next time they'll let you fool yourself.

Torture by Hold Music

 Today, I got a glimpse of what torture might feel like. Intending only to share the joys of virtual author visits with a new customer, I dialed the numbers almost excitedly. A friendly voice answered and, with perfect receptionist phone etiquette, offered to transfer me to the requested party.

[Cue: hold music]

As I settled into my chair, ready for a wait, an unfamiliar and unpleasant sensation began nibbling at my eardrums. Rather than the usual Mozart quartet or quiet beeping that one expects to hear when put on hold, a digitalized clavichord version of Fur Elise pipes up sounding as if it's been forced through the phone lines through rusty, hollowed-out sound tubes. As if it's not offensive enough that they chose to butcher a song sentimentally tied to my childhood, they then play only five measures of the theme on repeat. WHY?!?!?

A simile: this hold music is like zombies--a beautiful piece, strangled by an arranger's dreams of originality then brought back to the living world. Its image now in tatters, all fluidity lost to a cold heart and blood-starved muscles. Yet despite the awkward restrictions of its movements, somehow, it comes after you. Nipping at your heals--

"Hello. Ann speaking."

Thanks the daisies. Someone come to rescue me from this nightmare--
Wait, what? Ann? I didn't ask for Ann... "Yes, Hi. Can I please speak with David?"

"David's unavailable right now. Just one moment while I transfer you to his voicemail."

[Cue: panic]

Oh man, the nightmare's creeping back. Is it worth it? I mean, everyone knows that voicemails don't guarantee a call back. Can I stand it? But if I don't, I'll have to try again later and be subjected to this torture all over again!

Just as I think I've lost it, the machine picks up. Distracted into fits of stuttering, my brain scrambled into disjointed thoughts, the message doesn't start out so well.....
"Hi, uuuh, David, this is Alyssa from....(insert company name). I'm calling regarding the, uuuhhhh......" I won't deny that I patted myself on the back for what turned out to be a graceful recovery to a disastrous beginning. I hung up with relief, knowing that the zombies have been put away for at least a little while.

Needless to say, this experience has led me to pay undue attention to hold music during all subsequent calls. My conclusion is simple: this particular phone set-up was done so by evil villains. This music is supposed to assure you that the connection wasn't lost mid-transfer. That the digital messenger is still en route with your invitation to chat and hasn't been detained on the way. This music is supposed to make you feel relaxed while numbing your mind to the potentially long wait ahead. This music isn't supposed to traumatize you into never calling a general line again. If I were ever under real torture, I suspect it might be cave city for this weakling.

Tale the second: Hallways and Doors

In honor of a recent revisit with ye ole’ crutches, I’ve decided to resuscitate this blog with a post I started over a year ago during my last bout as a tri-ped.

Crutches

When on crutches, the number of appendages to mind when moving through space is increased thus forcing the crutchee into a whole new perspective and conception of self. Like when the baby moves from a near and dear relationship with the ground to a violent one as she attempts to make friends with the sky, standing tall, only to collapse painfully into the wide embrace of her old friend. Hands and knees unsure that they are ready to move on and relinquish their connection over to the feet. In short, you become clumsy and prone to bruising and public embarrassment.

Take hallways, for example. When walking by someone in a hallway you may have a brief thought regarding the nearness of the stranger headed in the opposite direction, but your focus is on the relief you will feel once you’ve passed them thus relieving the pressure of making eye contact at the exact moment that will prevent repetitive awkward glances. (This is a concern for another musing though.) But crutching by someone in the hallway is a whole separate story. All of a sudden, the hallway that had previously been space large enough for three people to walk shoulder-to-shoulder, has now become treacherously narrow. Once the other person sees your outspreading robotic legs and has given you one of several looks sympathizing, there follows one of three methods to proceed.

1. Pull your crutches into your sides and baby crutch-step by keeping all attention on the nearest handhold for when you start to go down.

2. Ignore the fact that you may as well be a semi passing a cyclist on a bike path (guess who doesn’t belong?) and plow on by with the confidence of weathered peg-legged ape—they’re the able-bodied ones who should be agile enough to get out of the way.

3. Stop and stare until they’ve apologetically shuffled-hopped by. Forgiving smiles not required.

The option you choose is really entirely dependent on the time of day. In the morning, you’re feeling fresh so you’ve got the energy and self-consciousness to take on this tense and precarious adventure. Afternoon roles around and you’re still feeling good, but really, you just want to get somewhere with the same pointed attitude of your bipedal counterparts—let them deal with it. Now comes evening. The end of a long work day, your hands are sore, the rash under your arms has chaffed to the point of hate, and you really just want to have the satisfaction of dragging yourself home with an “I work so hard in this life” look pulling down the muscles on your face. So someone comes towards you, you bust out the face no problem and make them feel guilty for forcing a pause on you that you are secretively thankful for.

Doors

Now all of that is well and good because, while challenging, the opponent is still flexible and conscious to the approaching obstacle. Doors, on the other hand, don’t give a flying cuss about your challenges in life and will not for a second assume the guilt you so wish to project. Doors will deceive, doors will mock, and doors will hurt. Unless they too are equipped entirely with mechanical parts (read: sliding doors) they feel no sympathy for the crutch.

When approaching a door that swings toward you, one must find the exact spot at which to place the inner crutch so as to maximize your strength over the door’s by minimizing the distance between you and it and still keeping the potentially offending crutch out of the door’s line of swing. All calculations are also dependent on the strength, size, and type of knob the door has. This is where deception comes in. Large doors that seem heavy are sometimes very light. You swing with all your might and your might takes you down swinging. The door stands tall and laughs down at you. Small doors that seem light are sometimes very heavy. You pull with a loose grip on the knob, your grip loses, and again, you go down. Door laughs.

When you do successfully swing a door open, the next trick is getting through it safely to the other side. Heavy doors are known for their quick turn-around and an affinity for racing to the finish. If you’re not quick enough, they win the race and you are left stuck in limbo. Light doors are more hesitant and sometimes simply choose to explore the feeling of being open. Well that should make it easier right? Wrong. You are then faced with the challenge of closing the door as you simultaneously back your way through it. Think of a 27-point U-turn. It’s about as awkward and equally embarrassing. Eventually though, you’ll have to get to the other side.

Now take all that and reverse it for doors that swing towards you. Either way, the door has the upper hand. And, after all of that, the set of stairs that usually follows is really just an extension of this joke on you. Might as well join in on the laughter.