Jul 20, 2009

my state

Somewhat questionably, it is now 10 to 6 in the morning and I am up and outside on the patio in the backyard. I am here. Here I am with my tea and this new kind of cereal, along with my camera. I am in my big socks, my gray sweat pants, a tight black t-shirt, and my grandpa sweater. This whole experience, really, resembles ones I had 7 hours north of this city, up in Manitoulin, at “the daughter’s” cottage, or rather, her grandparent’s house for a third of each year. Many things about this current existence are obviously different, but some things are so the same. For instance, it is quite cold outside. It's only 14C. When I wrote up north, it was around the same, although I was indoors, but it was more dewey outside than it is right now. The sunrise also resembles the Manitoulin sunrise. Blues were there again, and oranges and softer, lighter, more nicer blues are here with me now, at 5:54. Sip of tea at 5:54. Also similar is the cereal. It is the same type of cereal, sort of. The brand is different though. This is Oatmeal Crisp, that was Special K. It had almonds in it. And/or vanilla. This has raisins. So the cereal really isn’t that the same at all, is it? Does it really matter though, and moreover, who’s asking? Aside from my outfit, the temperature, and the feeling of this lap top on my lap, the warmness of it all somewhat seeping through to my crossed leg concoction, through those sweat pants I own, the ones I am wearing, the ones that have travelled in time and space - yeah, those ones - things are very similar.

Let’s start with differences. Well, what I am looking at is a screen, somewhat like the northern experience. Exactly like the northern experience actually, although the matter that lies behind the screen is different. It is of my heated pool, properly over heated pool, and it is steaming. It makes me want to go jump in after changing into a bathing suit to endure a sensation I’ve never witnessed before. It would be so unusually gluey and watery in the pool. The air above would be so crisp. The towel would be so hardened. Differences... Hmm... I am feeling a different sensation of comfort. This one also begun as me hushing myself, trying not to the disturb the sleeping, but I was quicker with my breakfast, and less cautious, honestly. If I were to wake my fellow family, it would not be the end of the world. Although it may seem like it with the bed head of the boys in this house, but it’ll be alright. The keys of this lap top are also different. They’re more damp and sort of sticky. Maybe it was the honey miel that got onto my fingertips, transferring from those very tips onto the pads of each key, mainly the vowels, and the commas. There are birds present here too, but more of them. A more dense, obnoxious bird population. They only seem obnoxious though, because of their keen ability to communicate before 6 in the morning. Although it is 6:02 now. They’re wide awake. I am almost. I am okay with this. I swivel in my chair here, as opposed to rock. I have a tickle in my throat here, versus there. My book is not by my side.

When I woke up this morning, I sort of moaned the words, “Oh my God.” It was sort of as a thank you, I guess if you analyze it. A thanks for this without a doubt, remarkably breathtaking sunrise. I almost wrote sunset just then, you see. I always thought I was a sucker for the sets, but this summer’s been about self discovery, no matter how miniscule or how generic or how engorging. I hadn’t experienced many sunrises in my life, but after my Manitoulin adventures, I’ve become addicted. I am following my Literature teacher’s religion and/or philosophy here, expecting the sun to come up tomorrow. And this brings me such comfort, I’ve no words, really, to express my gratitude, for this reoccurring magnificence and reoccurring wonder, all over. Over and over. 6:06, our grandfather clock chimes on time, 6 minutes late, 2 hours behind. Four dings. One for every hour. This is the way it’s been for over a year, and we’ve become accustomed completely.

I’m not sure if I knew it before, but I discovered something else about myself. I discovered that I thoroughly, most definitely enjoy and appreciate my time alone after everyone has gone to bed, and before anyone gets up. It’s this unusual, sparse amount of time that I can really, really call my own, because not one of you is experiencing something quite like this at this moment, at these moments, after your asleep, and especially before you’re awake. By this I do not mean my experiences are better and more notable than yours, no, not at all. What I mean is I take comfort in knowing that I am alone, without a wandering eye. I do not place myself on a pedestal because I’m here and you are not. No, that’s not how it is. I guess I’m not sure how to word it. I’m not even sure I fully understand it myself, not now at least. Nope. The very least I can do to show you what this is like, is to show you what this is like. Set a day or two aside for yourself to go to bed at a reasonable hour, enough so you can wake and get up at 5 or 5:30 to see what this is about. You’ll soon become addicted, it’s like honey. Maybe not emotionally, psychologically and/or physically dependent on these couple-of-hour-long experiences like a drug, but it really is, like a drug. You’ll wake up wanting more, and more. And more. As cheesy as it is. I need more.

Imagine yourself a 30 year old male, or female. Whichever gender you are, mentally fast forward in time to a place where you realistically see yourself. Whether it be with children, a wife or a husband, with that job you’re dreaming of, something. See yourself putting that goal in your pocket. Button or zip it up if applicable. The point of the matter is that you’ll be saving it for... later. You have this goal now, it’s put delicately in that pocket resting against your breast or your heartbeat or both, and then there you are, on this white canvas. A blank word document. An unpainted picket fence. The twenty seventh letter of the English alphabet. You see, you’re this something new and this something indescribable, and as unusual as you please. You explain this something however you like, to whoever you want, whenever you feel like it. Maybe it’s to yourself. It probably is to yourself. You have this goal in your pocket, and your upcoming goals and hopeful achievements in your other, maybe in your pant pocket, and you’re this black, beautiful stick figure in this whitened room. God, this air is fresh that you breathe, and damn, this room is silent, or not. This is what it feels like to not really be able - yet - to describe a passion, and a content, and clear state of mind. This is my state, because it’s me, and I’m here. Even with you here, this state, it’s mine you know. Join me maybe. Will you? Would you want to, or would you just feel obligated to? Maybe compelled to? Drawn to? Would you love to?

These goals, you can unbutton them now. It’s approaching 6:30 and later 7 and 7:30 and 8, and the state is walking away for another day, tomorrow. It’s a place or mindset or something, that I suppose I’ll call my state, that I most enjoy, I feel. Your state is a little something that you most enjoy too. Maybe you haven’t defined it like I have. Although, have I really defined it? Haven’t I only been describing and attempting to depict and explain it? The least that I do know is that I know this is it. And I know when to reach it. And I know how to go about obtaining it. I know where it is. This brings me pleasure and a beneficial, enjoyable, unforgettable, and probably healthy start to every day on earth. My state, after all, is with us on earth, and can be shared if you’re willing. So try it?

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