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armchairsplendr's Journal
Created on 2007-01-24 00:49:59 (#12114770), last updated 2007-09-23
0 comments received, 3 comments posted
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2 Journal Entries, 6 Tags, 0 Memories, 0 Virtual Gifts, 2 Userpics
Basic Info| Name: | armchairsplendr |
|---|
Bio"armchair splendor"
How does it feel?
It feels exactly like one of those dreams in which you suddenly realize that you have to take a test you haven't studied for and you aren't wearing any clothes. And you've left your wallet at home.
When I am out there, in time, I am inverted, changed into a desperate version of myself. I become a thief, a vagrant, an animal who runs and hides. I startle old women and amaze children. I am a trick, an illusion of the highest order, so incredible that I am actually true.
Is there a logic, a rule to all this coming and going, all this dislocation? Is there a way to stay put, to embrace the present with every cell? I don't know. There are clues; as with any disease there are patterns, possibilities. Exhaustion, loud noises, stress, standing up suddenly, flashing light — any of these can trigger an episode. But: I can be reading the Sunday Times, coffee in hand and Clare dozing beside me on our bed and suddenly I'm in 1976 watching my thirteen-year-old self mow my grandparents' lawn. Some of these episodes last only moments; it's like listening to a car radio that's having trouble holding on to a station. I find myself in crowds, audiences, mobs. Just as often I am alone, in a field, house, car, on a beach, in a grammar school in the middle of the night. I fear finding myself in a prison cell, an elevator full of people, the middle of a highway. I appear from nowhere, naked. How can I explain? I have never been able to carry anything with me. No clothes, no money, no ID. Fortunately I don't wear glasses. I spend most of my sojourns acquiring clothing and trying to hide.
It's ironic, really. All my pleasures are homey ones: armchair splendor, the sedate excitements of domesticity. All I ask for are humble delights. A mystery novel in bed, the smell of Clare's long red-gold hair damp from washing, a postcard from a friend on vacation, cream dispersing into coffee, the softness of the skin under Clare's breasts, the symmetry of grocery bags sitting on the kitchen counter waiting to be unpacked. I love meandering through the stacks at the library after the patrons have gone home, lightly touching the spines of the books. These are the things that can pierce me with longing when I am displaced from them by Time's whim.
From The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger, my favorite book of all time.
about
monica. nineteen. reading. science. crafting. not posting much.
♥
How does it feel?
It feels exactly like one of those dreams in which you suddenly realize that you have to take a test you haven't studied for and you aren't wearing any clothes. And you've left your wallet at home.
When I am out there, in time, I am inverted, changed into a desperate version of myself. I become a thief, a vagrant, an animal who runs and hides. I startle old women and amaze children. I am a trick, an illusion of the highest order, so incredible that I am actually true.
Is there a logic, a rule to all this coming and going, all this dislocation? Is there a way to stay put, to embrace the present with every cell? I don't know. There are clues; as with any disease there are patterns, possibilities. Exhaustion, loud noises, stress, standing up suddenly, flashing light — any of these can trigger an episode. But: I can be reading the Sunday Times, coffee in hand and Clare dozing beside me on our bed and suddenly I'm in 1976 watching my thirteen-year-old self mow my grandparents' lawn. Some of these episodes last only moments; it's like listening to a car radio that's having trouble holding on to a station. I find myself in crowds, audiences, mobs. Just as often I am alone, in a field, house, car, on a beach, in a grammar school in the middle of the night. I fear finding myself in a prison cell, an elevator full of people, the middle of a highway. I appear from nowhere, naked. How can I explain? I have never been able to carry anything with me. No clothes, no money, no ID. Fortunately I don't wear glasses. I spend most of my sojourns acquiring clothing and trying to hide.
It's ironic, really. All my pleasures are homey ones: armchair splendor, the sedate excitements of domesticity. All I ask for are humble delights. A mystery novel in bed, the smell of Clare's long red-gold hair damp from washing, a postcard from a friend on vacation, cream dispersing into coffee, the softness of the skin under Clare's breasts, the symmetry of grocery bags sitting on the kitchen counter waiting to be unpacked. I love meandering through the stacks at the library after the patrons have gone home, lightly touching the spines of the books. These are the things that can pierce me with longing when I am displaced from them by Time's whim.
From The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger, my favorite book of all time.
about
monica. nineteen. reading. science. crafting. not posting much.
♥
ConnectInterests (84):
a poetry handbook, a swiftly tilting planet, a wrinkle in time, alkaline trio, american gods, amsterdam, aqualung, awesomely bad movies, ben lee, brand new, bright eyes, british sci-fi, dead poets society, death cab for cutie, degrassi: the next generation, devour, dirty deeds, dna, dna: the-secret-of-life, doctor who, dogma, donnie darko, dude where's my car?, english, eurotrip, evolutionary biology, extremely-loud-and-incredibly-close, firefly, frou frou, garden state, genetics, gilmore girls, grind, hamlet, heroes, hot hot heat, house, house of wax, ian mcewan, imogen heap, internet geekery, invader zim, jack's mannequin, jeopardy, jimmy eat world, jonathan safran foer, joshua radin, jumping rope, learning, mary oliver, mike doughty, much ado about nothing, music & lyrics, my puppies, neuroscience, onelinedrawing, poetry, pretty girls make graves, reading, regina spektor, serenity, something corporate, stay alive, supernatural, tegan & sara, texas is the reason, that thing you do!, the colbert report, the cure, the daily show, the dandy warhols, the get up kids, the handmaid's tale, the killers, the new amsterdams, the oc, the prestige, the princess bride, the smiths, the time traveler's wife, the wonders, the-winter-of-our-discontent, torchwood, uptown girls
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 | armchairsplendr@livejournal.com |
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