It's strange how impulses come and go throughout a life. MSN had a
story on how the brain works. The memory take a moment in your life and
dissects it into the tiny insignificant details that make the whole.
You
may not realize it at the time, but you see more than you can know.
That first moment when you see the girl on the front porch of the house
next door. When you chase down that certain someone that you deliver
packages to. When you run a stop sign and hit a car that you didn't
think would be there. All of these moments store in your brain. The
brain doesn't assign one cell to the memory. It breaks it up. The
braided tails of her hair hanging down. The sunlight and how you
stopped breathing for a second. The scent in the air. The light in the
hall. The eyes on the other driver's face. All of these things are
stored in the bits of the moment that they are and get associated to a
sense of the moment more than the actual moment. Sometime when it's
sunny out and the wind is just right or you walk down another hall with
similar lighting, you will expect to see her there. A flash in the
neurons. A trick of nature. Everything is connected even when it
isn't. In these moments, you find happiness and joy. In these moments,
you find sorrow and mourn your lost innocence. In these moments, some
things become clear.
Today, in this moment, I flashed through the
things I had dreamt so hard about in my life. The wants, the attempts,
the cowardice. The futile waste of time that is what I am now. I
realize, in this moment, that I want nothing else but this feeling. The
sense of doing something I truly enjoy. It's finding what you've
always loved and getting to keep it with you.
Tuesday, December 6, 2005
Sunday, December 4, 2005
001 The 11am epiphany
There never should have been an inch of snow on the sidewalk this week.
I watched the construction over the weeks prior to the snow. Beige and
red blocks of stone raised from the sidewalk on Adams next to the Sears
Tower. The exposed underside of the sidewalk was compiled by a valley
of empty stone with a trail of copper tubing to heat the blocks of stone
and prevent any icy build up. The areas on Jackson and on Adams on the
south and north sides, respectively, of the block that housed the Sears
Tower consists of a low graded slope. Maybe 20 degrees. 30 degrees.
They were enough of a slope for dangerous ice formation, but safe enough
for walking on dry days.
The Ace hardware store on the opposite side of Adams would make most assume the tower would have sent someone across the street for a bucket of salt to add to the effectiveness of the heat coils. This would not occur to those in the Tower.
It was anticipated that rain would fall for most of the afternoon on that October day. The wind was brisk, but none expected the rain to freeze on the way down. For an hour, the rain pelted the ground on the downhill section of Adams. Nine thirty in the morning until ten thirty, the freezing rain lay its trap as the snow began to fall for half an hour after that. The camouflage cover would be timed perfectly.
The heating coils had not been preheated. The stone would reluctantly heat up after thirty or forty minutes, but not soon enough for the lunch rush. A thin layer of snow had formed on the ground before the operational procedures were started and thirty people began to walk up the hill on the trip for lunch. A handful coming from the Tower itself, all shared the walk toward the west for food on an unexpectedly cold day. Twenty feet up the hill, a woman in a red coat find the first trap set under the snow. She slips as she looks across the street hoping to have another option for lunch that does not involve more time spent in the cold. The man in the three piece suit next to her catches her arm and saves her from her stumble. The pack continues the rush up the slope and all have made it to the top except for that woman in the red coat and one other following her. Three steps from level ground, her left foot in the air to step is the off balance factor as the right foot precariously placed on a snow less footprint from walkers ahead that send her face first to the ground. Her left foot spins backwards in an ark and strikes the man following her square in the jaw. The man's head down gave the woman a push off point to save herself at the cost of this poor man without a coat on. This poor fool felt the press of the shoe off of his face. The muscles in his neck strained as the pressure on his head sent through the entire body causing him to tumble backwards beginning with a back flip that ended with his head catching the stones. The stones, roughly 30 degrees at that point in the heating cycle, would be completely clear of snow and ice by the time I would come to at the bottom of the block. Third person is the manner in which the story was told. Third person is the manner in which it is recollected. The footprint on my forehead would be the only clear memory. In first person.
The Ace hardware store on the opposite side of Adams would make most assume the tower would have sent someone across the street for a bucket of salt to add to the effectiveness of the heat coils. This would not occur to those in the Tower.
It was anticipated that rain would fall for most of the afternoon on that October day. The wind was brisk, but none expected the rain to freeze on the way down. For an hour, the rain pelted the ground on the downhill section of Adams. Nine thirty in the morning until ten thirty, the freezing rain lay its trap as the snow began to fall for half an hour after that. The camouflage cover would be timed perfectly.
The heating coils had not been preheated. The stone would reluctantly heat up after thirty or forty minutes, but not soon enough for the lunch rush. A thin layer of snow had formed on the ground before the operational procedures were started and thirty people began to walk up the hill on the trip for lunch. A handful coming from the Tower itself, all shared the walk toward the west for food on an unexpectedly cold day. Twenty feet up the hill, a woman in a red coat find the first trap set under the snow. She slips as she looks across the street hoping to have another option for lunch that does not involve more time spent in the cold. The man in the three piece suit next to her catches her arm and saves her from her stumble. The pack continues the rush up the slope and all have made it to the top except for that woman in the red coat and one other following her. Three steps from level ground, her left foot in the air to step is the off balance factor as the right foot precariously placed on a snow less footprint from walkers ahead that send her face first to the ground. Her left foot spins backwards in an ark and strikes the man following her square in the jaw. The man's head down gave the woman a push off point to save herself at the cost of this poor man without a coat on. This poor fool felt the press of the shoe off of his face. The muscles in his neck strained as the pressure on his head sent through the entire body causing him to tumble backwards beginning with a back flip that ended with his head catching the stones. The stones, roughly 30 degrees at that point in the heating cycle, would be completely clear of snow and ice by the time I would come to at the bottom of the block. Third person is the manner in which the story was told. Third person is the manner in which it is recollected. The footprint on my forehead would be the only clear memory. In first person.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
