How am I ever going to know that things are all set, all good, all fixed, if I can’t see it? How am I going to ever be certain if I can’t see it with my own two eyes? How am I going to be able to take a screen reader’s voice for granted as the be all and end all of the world wide web’s anxious unknowns? How, oh how am I ever going to be able to trust my inner vision to what someone else sees? If I can’t see it, is it really there? Is it really the way I imagine it to be? Are my memories accurate? Does my iPod really know where I am if I don’t know where it is? If I hang onto this shopping cart long enough, will my wife get me back to the car? If I kick this stupid couch one more time, will I ever remember where it is? How can I miss you, when you won’t go away? Is my cane where I think I left it, or is it where it really is? Are there words forming on the screen, or am I typing into thin air? Does my dog Coco still have sexy eyes? Is she looking at me, or do I just feel that she’s looking at me? If I can’t see them, are the edible colors still in the flower garden? Does chocolate still look as good as it tastes?
I am full of questions, and a lot of them are surrounded with my own patented anxious doubt. My half full glass of water is sitting on the shelf, wondering if I will either drink it, or spill it. My hard soled slippers that have saved my toes on countless occasions are somewhere in the house, wondering if I have forgotten all about them. My favorite hat of the month is in the car, or on the porch, or on the kitchen plant shelf, or in the laundry room, or somewhere other than on top of my gray haired, billy goat head. What color is this shirt? Does it match these pants? Huh? This is your shirt? You mean I put a woman’s shirt on? Do I look embarrassed? Are my ears turning red? Well I tell ya, they ought to be! Ok then, does it still match these pants though, or am I color coordinated for every occasion? Do you see a plastic cup on the kitchen floor? Is it right, oh crap! I kicked it across the floor again. Come here, you stupid, stupid cup! I ought to half fill you up and put you back on the shelf again. Are these my white sneakers, or the chocolate ones my cousin bought me? Did someone move the TV? Why isn’t the remote working? Are you sure the cable box didn’t get spun around?
It’s funny how sometimes everything seems to be just out of reach. It’s like you can almost touch it with your finger tips, but then, it ain’t there. How’s it going to help me to have everything in the same place if I can’t remember where the same place is? I mean, it’s habit forming and reoccurring, but strangely non binding. I think it’s just one big test. That’s it! One huge, overstuffed, supersized, ever changing beta test. Best thing is, if I flunk it today, I can take it again tomorrow, with no penalty, except that I have to do it all over again.
I wish I was back in the days where I knew where everything was, and if I didn’t I could look and find it. Well, hmm, that’s funny. I seem to remember that I was always looking for something, especially my tools. They never stayed where I forgot I put them. I seem to remember spending half the time on projects looking in the wrong place for the right tool. Oh how fun I remember that to be! Or am I wandering through another grand illusion? Styx.
I think the latter is probably more accurate, and thanks for flying with Illusion Air.
Now then, meanwhile back at the ranch, or barn, or front porch, or back deck, or wherever I may happen to have left my digital recorder. By the way, have you seen it? I tell you, I’m lost without that little thing. Seriously. But then again, I was just about lost to begin with, so it’s all good. It’s all that, and a bag of chocolate chips. It’s all that I care to look for right now.
I can still see things for what they’re worth, or what I thought they were, or what they’re supposed to be, or what they used to be. Either way, in my own unique little prismatic episode, I still see them, and when I reach out and grab hold of something, it’s a wonderful feeling, until, that is, the handbag, or back hand, or a few choice little words come flying right upside my head.
But it was well worth it, or it might have been, or it used to be, or someone once told me it was.
I hear a blue jay out front in the white ash tree. Out here on the ridge, we call them clothes line birds. I’ll let you ponder on that one for a spell.
You know, just because I can’t see it, doesn’t mean it’s not there, unless I left it somewhere else.
Still pondering on the clothes line thing?