Didn't *I* Have a Good Day
Sep. 22nd, 2004 01:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
butterflydreamingEgo stroke, ego stroke. All who fed the addiction, thank you. This is how I keep turning out around one bit of writing a week. And, Happy Mabon! (says the "lapsed Catholic")
I say the same phrases every day, to the same people, at almost the same time. Some of this has been going on for over 6 years (those who I served at my previous job) (it's the same neighborhood). So, frequently, and more often of late, I forget things... as if I have already done them. Handing over a part of the daily purchase, usually.
I wondered -- does repeating the same actions over and over wear a thin spot in the Universe, the way constant walking wears a hole in a carpet?
And then the customer (who no longer likes me, because I was plainly honest one day and said, "Well, I don't actually like people") made a snide remark. It wrankled me, and I realized -- the wear is not on the universe.
It is on the soul.
There are places where the soul wears thin, because of the treading of shod feet over the same spot, careless feet that pay no attention to the mud and filth that they carry. Walking a path out of habit and role, with no thought of varying. The soft and delicate texture goes first, then the sturdier weave. In time, the threads will tear away, a rip will begin, and then spread. And the next person to come walking along will be tripped.
Maybe the wear spot is at the top of a staircase.
A long staircase.
But think of it -- an act, repeated and repeated and repeated, with only minor variation. Would not the universe remember? Why does a holy place feel holy? Why do ghosts haunt places where terrible acts have been committed, places of torture and imprisonment?
Wear can also bring comfort. A soft, often washed pair of jeans. Favorite leather boots. Someone who always welcomes you with a hug (and the question, "I'm not fat, am I?") when you get a chance to visit each other. The gentle lullaby of a familiar story, remembered but not quite memorized. The curves on a road that leads to a place you love.
. . .
Oh, and I found a broken key when I emptied the garbage can by the building's mailboxes. It's always filled with recyclable paper (junkmail), and then someone tosses a banana peel or a drippy coffee cup in. So I try to empty it, to get the paper recycled. (There was only one coffee cup today, at the bottom.) Anyway -- it looks like a padlock key. Broken keys are cool. So, a little reward for fighting entropy.
I say the same phrases every day, to the same people, at almost the same time. Some of this has been going on for over 6 years (those who I served at my previous job) (it's the same neighborhood). So, frequently, and more often of late, I forget things... as if I have already done them. Handing over a part of the daily purchase, usually.
I wondered -- does repeating the same actions over and over wear a thin spot in the Universe, the way constant walking wears a hole in a carpet?
And then the customer (who no longer likes me, because I was plainly honest one day and said, "Well, I don't actually like people") made a snide remark. It wrankled me, and I realized -- the wear is not on the universe.
It is on the soul.
There are places where the soul wears thin, because of the treading of shod feet over the same spot, careless feet that pay no attention to the mud and filth that they carry. Walking a path out of habit and role, with no thought of varying. The soft and delicate texture goes first, then the sturdier weave. In time, the threads will tear away, a rip will begin, and then spread. And the next person to come walking along will be tripped.
Maybe the wear spot is at the top of a staircase.
A long staircase.
But think of it -- an act, repeated and repeated and repeated, with only minor variation. Would not the universe remember? Why does a holy place feel holy? Why do ghosts haunt places where terrible acts have been committed, places of torture and imprisonment?
Wear can also bring comfort. A soft, often washed pair of jeans. Favorite leather boots. Someone who always welcomes you with a hug (and the question, "I'm not fat, am I?") when you get a chance to visit each other. The gentle lullaby of a familiar story, remembered but not quite memorized. The curves on a road that leads to a place you love.
. . .
Oh, and I found a broken key when I emptied the garbage can by the building's mailboxes. It's always filled with recyclable paper (junkmail), and then someone tosses a banana peel or a drippy coffee cup in. So I try to empty it, to get the paper recycled. (There was only one coffee cup today, at the bottom.) Anyway -- it looks like a padlock key. Broken keys are cool. So, a little reward for fighting entropy.
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Date: 2004-09-22 02:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-09-22 02:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-09-22 02:13 pm (UTC)Once, when I was a little girl, I found an old skeleton key. For years, I waited for a keyhole of light to appear in the universe, just waiting for me to turn the lock.
no subject
Date: 2004-09-23 01:06 pm (UTC)Oh, happy Mabon!
...wait...
OMGs! I forgot Mabon! Yeee*runs around*
Ok, sorry about that.^^
no subject
Date: 2004-09-23 06:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-19 06:53 pm (UTC)It is on the soul.
good way of looking at it.
[now must figure out where my soul is worn. no - the other places]