Do you also have days, reader, when you feel like you're sleepwalking? I think about atmospheric pressure in times like these; how all of us carry a column of air that extends all the way into space, on our shoulders. Our blood exerts outward pressure to balance the weight of the atmosphere, which is what keeps us from getting crushed under that enormous force, like a sapling under a tank.
On some days, doesn't it feel like your blood just gives up? I think of blood vessels bursting in little red pops, under that tremendous onslaught of pressure. I can't see them, but the image is vivid in my mind. My spine is all I have to hold me up and it isn't doing a very good job. Gravity drags me down and the air above smothers me. All I want to do is lie down, curled up in a ball, and let the forces do their worst.
It's easy to be happy, most days. It's on days like today that it's so much harder, and -I tell myself- a true test of character. It's for days like today that I began writing this blog, at a time when every day felt like today. So, I'm not going to think about atmospheric pressure any more. I'm going to sit on my chair with a straight spine, sip my coffee, and talk to you.
In the office today, I sat next to a glass window that stretched from floor to roof. I could see people and cars below, but hear no sound except the fan above me and the clickety-clack of computer keys from all the cubicles around. The light outside was gray and foreboding, yet with that peculiar clarity that only the rains bring. Even sunshine is never this clear. Nearby objects are brighter, colours stand out more, and everything far away and therefore not worth considering is blurred out by the fog. It brought a sense of immediacy that I found I needed. Who cares if the future and the past are foggy and unclear? We have the present, and it is full of puddles, umbrellas, and bright-eyed dogs.
On some days, doesn't it feel like your blood just gives up? I think of blood vessels bursting in little red pops, under that tremendous onslaught of pressure. I can't see them, but the image is vivid in my mind. My spine is all I have to hold me up and it isn't doing a very good job. Gravity drags me down and the air above smothers me. All I want to do is lie down, curled up in a ball, and let the forces do their worst.
It's easy to be happy, most days. It's on days like today that it's so much harder, and -I tell myself- a true test of character. It's for days like today that I began writing this blog, at a time when every day felt like today. So, I'm not going to think about atmospheric pressure any more. I'm going to sit on my chair with a straight spine, sip my coffee, and talk to you.
In the office today, I sat next to a glass window that stretched from floor to roof. I could see people and cars below, but hear no sound except the fan above me and the clickety-clack of computer keys from all the cubicles around. The light outside was gray and foreboding, yet with that peculiar clarity that only the rains bring. Even sunshine is never this clear. Nearby objects are brighter, colours stand out more, and everything far away and therefore not worth considering is blurred out by the fog. It brought a sense of immediacy that I found I needed. Who cares if the future and the past are foggy and unclear? We have the present, and it is full of puddles, umbrellas, and bright-eyed dogs.
beautiful! I love how you write. You really ought to conduct a workshop for people like me sometime. :)
ReplyDeleteThank you, JATG. It's in posts like these that I put my science education to some use. :D
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