oil

Sleepiness may coax my eyelids to collapse but only untames the mind. Tiredness uninhibits and releases all other restraints grasped throughout the proceeding day: logic, structure, sense. With those opponents dissolved, raw wanderings are released.

[Voices grapple at me, tug at my ears and towards my heart. "Interest" is redefined and morphed into others' excretions whether they match formality or not. For the first time in my life I am encased in oil which necessarily prevents the absorbtion of, "an effect." Indifference has befriended me for once, accompanied by distraction and business. These, after all, are the desirable crowd in the chaos of socializing. All want love and belongingness, but only on selected terms. After all, unfiltered love isn't love (redefined accordingly) at all, and when poured out without discretion, loses its charm. Essentially, the encasement is protection, except for when unexpectedly yet welcomely puntured. I errect a wall but have the nerve to hope someone will burrow through it? That's unfair. That's vain. So I won't. Instead, I'll errect a wall for the sake of a wall and not to function as the final hurdle one must jump.]


Mrs. Louden was my fourth grade teacher. She lived on my street and I ventured into the interior of her abode only to find out that teachers are real people too, and most certainly use the restroom. Astonished already, I was further wide-eyed at her presentation of a home-cooked meal. Foreign, but tasteful, and apparently memorable.

Karly was a girl that grew up on my street. She was Cinderella to me, in all ways that applied. Wonder where she is now. (Thanks to facebook, I could find out but am too tired to click towards her, and too afraid of my own self-judgment if I did.)

The bamboo forest populated the Maydale Nature Center in my backyard. Crawfish swarmed the creeks, and I remember being a worried, jogging, little, calorie conscious 12-year-old. Gabby and Hershey were my faithul labradors while my shitzu dissappeared beneath the suface of deep snows. It was a winter wonderland back there. Back where the high school students hid, to do drugs or perform secretive activities which preduced strangely shaped, popped balloons that mom scorned and warned me never to touch.

Beavers gnawed on the trunks of mal-placed trees. 'Damn' was a giggle-able curse word, and the labs clumsily leapt into the pond. But humans did not, as they were adamently warned by the government-posted sign.

How did fish get there? How did the eggs hatch? There were so many frogs. What was the difference between frogs and toads?

Frogs always got caught under the automatic pool cover in our backyard. My dad joked that they'd taken their last jaccuzi that day, and I winced at their boiled, bodily scent. I learned to swim in that pool, wait no I didn't. I did learn, though, how to hold my breath for an awfully long time. I also learned how to dive shallowly to avoid a scraped up nose or banged forehead. Though, I've always been a person to have to make the mistake before actually learning from it. Simple explanation from a higher, informed source never did suffice.

And there was the tire swing. I could pump moderately high on my own, but there was no better engine than dad's arms, "Duh-kunder! Duh-kunder!" After it would rain, a deep puddle would form in the base of the tire. I'd shake it, with outstretched arms, to empty the ride while preserving my dryness, though both tasks usually weren't attained simulataneously. Dad carved a hole in the tire's bottom with a tool from his box in order for it to drain, but it always got clogged with leaves and gook. Leaves were present primarily in the golden fall, Though they foiled our draining system, they provided an excellent landing pad after illustrious leaps. The dogs were fun with their playful waggings and eager licks. They tried to swing me too, though their help couldn't compare to my daddy's arms.