Daily Prompt: Super Sensitive

I don’t usually reply to these prompts but this one spoke to me in particular because I was watching something one night, I don’t know how many weeks ago, and someone asked a girl this same question. I can’t remember what she chose, but I remember what I would have picked.

If I were forced to give up a sense I would give up hearing, and I would like to have enhanced eye-sight.

There are only two reasons for this:

1.) I am proficient enough in American Sign Language to get by.

2.) I have horrible eyesight, wear glasses, and would love to have perfect + enhanced vision.

I mean, think about it.

In my opinion, the loss of hearing would have the smallest impact of all on my life. The loss of sight would leave me fumbling in the dark, the loss of touch make life incredibly dull and would lead me to physical harm (as I am already terribly clumsy), the loss of taste would also make life boring, and the loss of smell…well, I don’t have a good reason for that one.

Actually, I think I would rather lose my sense of smell than my hearing. I think smell is less essential to survival in the world today than hearing.

Welp. There you go. All this to change my mind and say I would choose to lose smell after all. But I would still enhance my eyesight! Yeeah…

[in response to the daily prompt at http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/09/16/daily-prompt-sensitive/]

A childhood home

The world was quiet once, even for me. The nights were dark, save for the moon and the light of fireflies. Where I lived, though, not even the moon lit up the dark for its glow could not surpass the trees surrounding our rickety old home. The darkness was true and comforting there. Lying in bed at night I would search the darkness for my own hands and find nothing. Even now the smallest light makes my sleep uncomfortable.

I miss that shaky old house. One night, during tornado season, I was sure I would die there. I must have been ten years old, maybe eleven. My sister and I shared the attic. It was storming outside that night, and the wind was strong. So strong, in fact, that in the attic we were swaying with it. I was sure a tornado had finally come to sweep us away. I lunged from my bed to wake my sister, who could literally sleep through the apocalypse. I told her we had to go downstairs because the attic was going to fly away. She followed me, reluctantly, and we descended the narrow staircase into my brothers room. I don’t know why I didn’t think to wake my mother. We just crawled into bed with my brother and huddled up there. Maybe I thought that only the attic would be taken and we would be safe on the ground floor.

In the end the storm died down and the attic remained in tact. My mom didn’t believe me that it had been swaying with the wind. Our time in that house came to an end soon after that, in any case.

Despite its wobbliness, I loved that old house. It was full of mystery from another era. It was old and there were pickled vegetables in the pantry that might have been there for decades. The field beside it had tall weeds that moved like waves on the ocean with the breeze. There was a creek down the dirt and gravel road and past a nursery. In the fall leaves would pile up so thick on it that you couldn’t help but try to walk on them.

We were happy in that house. Happy for the last time, I think.

It was a good old house. A good home.

You want inside my head?

I want to feel again. I mean feel, really feel, not this tightness in my chest and this heat under my skin that sends me raging only I never rage because I have too much control to let it all out and that’s how it has always been. I said always but that’s not true because once upon a time I raged all the time. I lived in a place where rage was commonplace and that’s how I communicated. But no more. I haven’t truly raged in years and years and who can say whether that is good or bad? I think my family must be shocked by how I don’t rage any more that way I raged when I was 13 and under and living with them under the same roof before I moved away. I think they can’t believe how calm and patient I actually am now. No really, I am. I have no reason to rage any more. And I don’t like losing control. Who does? Some people think that makes me a control freak but what the hell does that mean? I am a control freak because I don’t let my emotions overrun into blind rage. Sure sometimes I cry when I don’t want to but I would rather cry when I don’t want to than rage and be nasty and ugly and embarrass myself. Control freak. Yeah. I want to feel again. I’ve been walking around in this daze, daze, never ending daze for weeks now. I feel like I have tunnel vision and yeah I know it’s goofy but sometimes I think the black rims of my glasses may be contributing. Who knows. I want to feel. I want to feel something besides what I already feel, what I always feel. I want to feel happiness. I want to laugh. I want to laugh for long periods of time. I want to laugh until my muscles hurt and tears roll down my cheeks and I can’t help but double over with the pleasure of it all. I want to feel…good.

Good. Like a smile working its way across the cheeks, blood rushing through like sour candy making the muscles tingle. Good like stepping outside on a sunny day and knowing it is yours for the taking, to do whatever you wish. Good…like there is potential in the world and everything that surrounds you. The world felt like that to me once. Then I learned. I ate something I shouldn’t have. Not literally, but figuratively. You know, I hate to make references to that infernal piece of literature but yeah. I ate from the wrong tree, so to speak. I think I can’t go back. I can’t unlearn what I learned. I can only pretend it never happened and what the hell, why would I? Why should I? Should I??? Is that what people do? Do they learn things that turn them upside down and shake the foundation of everything they thought they ever knew and then go back to what they were doing like it never happened? Is that survival? Is that giving up? Is that assimilation? Can you only survive if you assimilate? Sometimes I wonder if I will look back at myself now and ask myself what the hell was I thinking. What was I so worked up about? That scares me. If I forget, does the system win? Does this dirty, evil, fucked up system win if I just “keep calm, carry on”? I hate how everyone uses those memes. Like they fucking know something. It’s cute. Real cute. Keep calm, _fill in the blank_. But no seriously. Watch TV. Watch your facebook thread. Post on twitter while your child drowns in the pool. Turn the world into your own little reality TV shit fest. Even the news is reality TV. Oh, Putin said we aren’t exceptional? RUDE! Let’s hear what snark Newt Gingrich has to pass out of his poop portal because hey, it’s better than taking this situation seriously. IT’S SENSATIONAL! Don’t read between the lines. Look. A big eyed puppy rolling through a field of clouds in a tumble weed. The end.

Leaving the Past Behind

I had a really impactful dream last night. I won’t get into all the details, but basically I was hanging out with some people who at one point in my life were very important to me. I have since broken ties with them. However, in my dream they were there and they were battling with the people I currently hold dear for a slot in my life. I was sitting in a booth somewhere with one these old friends and new ones began to show up. Although I could recognize them, next to my old friends my new friends could not recognize me.

When I woke up my heart was hurting with the memory of those people I once held dear but am no longer in touch with. A lingering pain from the separation haunted me on my way to work.

I started to think about it, though, and one thing became very clear to me: there is no going back. I will never be the person those people loved again. I have changed too much in the past two years of my life. I can never revert to the me I was before the events that changed my life and my outlook on the world so drastically two years ago. Those people, they are from my old life now. They are from a chapter that has closed.

I am at the beginning of a new chapter in my life. The first two years of this chapter have been rocky and earth-shaking. Things are just starting to calm down, and I am sure I will find my solid footing again soon.

I think in some ways I have not completely let those people go, but this morning I found a new resolve to confront that pain and attachment and truly try to move on. I have a tendency to block things out in order to avoid painful emotions. For this reason, I think, I can’t completely heal or get over some things. Today that changes, at least in this instance. I am going to try my hardest to feel whatever comes my way and to work through it.

Maybe dealing with things in this manner will pull me out of this haze I have been walking around in.

Depersonalization?

Imagine you’re sitting in a restaurant. Or on the couch at your family’s house. Or hanging out with your significant other. You look around, you try to focus on the people around you, but it is hard. Everything seems distant. You make conversation, you hear yourself talking and responding appropriately, but you ask yourself how it is happening. You are in some way physically aware and conscious of what you are doing but it seems as though you are watching someone else go through the motions of your life. It is as though a thin veil separates you from everything. You zone out a lot. You feel as though you are in a daze. You sit in your room and look at the walls around you and it seems very … distant. Unfamiliar, almost. You feel like you have tunnel vision all the time. You can’t connect with anyone or anything because you can’t even connect with yourself.

This is a problem I have been having a lot lately. I am not really sure what it is or why I have it. Could it be depression? I don’t know… It doesn’t feel like any depression I have ever heard described. Is it some kind of dissociative disorder? Depersonalization? I wish I knew the answers to these questions but I have none.

Little things bring me back now and then. When my partner does sweet little things that touch me and make me smile, when something makes me laugh heartily. It seems rare though. Today I had a good laugh about something. Afterward I sat there wondering when the last time I laughed more than a chuckle like that was. I couldn’t remember.

What the hell is up with me? It is frustrating because I don’t know if I should be worried that I don’t feel like myself or if I should just ride it out and hope I pull through eventually.

Anyway. Sleep time.

Buenas noches. 

 

Iztaccihuatl & Popocatepetl – from Taqueria Iztaccihuatl in Fairburn, GA

He carries Iztaccihuatl’s body to the mountains whereupon he has a funeral pyre built for both himself and his princess. Grief-stricken beyond measure, Popocatepetl dies next to his beloved. The Gods, touched by the lover’s plight, turn the humans into mountains, so that they may finally be together. They remain so to this day with Popocatepetl residing over his princess Iztaccihuatl, while she lay asleep. On occasion, Popo will spew ash, reminding those watching that he is always in attendance, that he will never leave the side of his beloved Izta.

Today my partner and I went to Taqueria Iztaccihuatl in Fairburn, GA. On the inside cover of the menu was written this beautiful story.

The food, atmosphere, and staff were all superb and authentic. What is more, the story behind the namesake of this establishment is enchanting and I just had to know more. I took a copy of the menu so I could come home and look into the story in more detail, whereupon I found this beautiful image:

Image

It was taken by Carlos Rojas. Find his flickr here.

On the left you see Iztaccihuatl, or “White Woman”. In the Aztec language of Nahuatl, iztac means white and cihuatl means woman. It is easy to see how the form of this mountain could be likened to that of a woman lying on her back. The far left peak resembles a head with luscious locks running down to the foothills. The peak in the middle could easily be her breasts, and the peaks on the right her legs. They call her the “White Woman” because she is often covered in snow. She (the mountain) is also referred to as “La mujer dormida” or “The Sleeping Woman”.

On the right you see Popocatepetl, or “Smoking Mountain”. On this day Popo was was letting everyone watching know that he is still there, watching over his sleeping lover.

These mountains are the backdrop of Mexico City.

This image is found on the front of the menu at Taqueria Iztaccihuatl and does a beautiful job of bringing the legend to life:

Image

It is by Warner Cortez. Click here for a link to the site where I obtained the image. It has more information on the legend behind these mountains.

I highly recommend going there to read more about the beautiful and tragic legend of Iztaccihuatl and Popocatepetl.

If you are in the Atlanta area, check out Taqueria Iztaccihuatl. The food is delicious and authentic, and the owner is really nice. Try their Fajitas Texanas and Enchildas Verdes. That’s what we had, anyway, and it was super tasty.  Upon hearing he was a student, the owner personally wrote my partner a coupon to buy one meal, get another of equal or lesser price free, so that we might come back and see them some time.

I am thankful that we happened across this place today because I learned of a beautiful legend, met a great and friendly person, and had an amazing meal all at the same time. What more can you ask for? It was the highlight of my day.