One of the things I tend to be most blissfully unaware of is my body, this thing that I’m trapped inside that I’m constantly bumping into things. Even now, I have bruises on my legs from I know not where; the most strenuous thing I do on any given day is walk on the treadmill.
Today, though, I’m feeling rather hyper-aware of every corpuscle. The way I smell (clean); the way I look (slightly too dangerous for the office, so no stilettos today, because that would be over the top); etc. I’m feeling contained, something I’m generally not aware of, from the way the artificial fabrics are clinging to my skin, especially my rarely revealed bosom and waist.
I realize that today’s outfit would have been perfect for a happy hour; as busy as I am, now I wish I had one to go to. It’s not often I’m aware of my physical presence in the world, and I just feel like throwing it around a little bit.
Generally, I’m tiny (I suppose), but I’m not much aware of this either, and I know this is a detail that others forget as well. I have a way of filling a space that makes me seem quite substantial --until one sees me in photographs next to abnormally large people. It takes a moment for the realization to click: Ooh, those are “regular” sized people; holy cow, she’s tiny!
I talk fast, I move fast, I eat slow (unless I’m alone, where my capacity to inhale is only slowed by my desire to drink), and my body, in general, simply cannot keep up with my brain, which is always elsewhere and 50 miles ahead. Make that: “50 years ahead.”
Perhaps this is where we meet: both my body and my brain are bored. And I feel strangely compact, though I’ve done nothing to deserve this feeling. I’m eating a second breakfast, for goodness sake, all washed down with a first cup of coffee, which will become a second.
But, what does it really feel like, to be human?
Regarding Object Writing http://www.spencermichaud.com/2012/10/songwriting-101-writing-from-experience.html#.VCLC4RY2Xct