A Day Ahead

All day yesterday I thought it was Wednesday. It wasn't until 9 o'clock last night that Sara broke the news. She had a late meeting so I had the house to myself; it was very quiet. After dinner I moved to the living room but didn't really have the energy to turn on the TV or watch a movie. I put some music (finally) on my iPhone; I found my earbuds so I could listen to something, anything.

It seemed appropriate to leave only a couple of small lights on so I could really get into a place where thought was actually possible. I'm a big fan of live, small, acoustic-style songs; I found a few good ones and leaned my head back as I listened. This is the time that I imagine having a talent where I could set-up and speak to a crowd through music. It seems like a concept so simple and insignificant can have weight when given the opportunity so be expressed through song; some concepts and feelings can only be expressed this way.

I've studied around and geared myself toward the "visual." I've probably said this before, but my eyes just don't see like they used to or at least the way I hoped they would. Close people have excelled in the visual arts; whether it be design, photography or another fine art. I can't say that I don't spend time thinking about these people... good or bad thoughts.

Even though my job is still on the visual side of the spectrum, my life has become more about language. I'm supposed to express, through words, how a seizure feels. "What is your aura like?" "Explain to me what you're thinking after a seizure." I still can only really put into words, maybe 20% of the sensation. Imagine that you're at your desk and suddenly you taste your birthday cake from when you were twelve. Then you see flashing pictures in the back of your mind of an old TV show your grandpa used to watch when you were young. By the time you figure out what you're tasting and what you're thinking, the seizure starts and when it's over, you've lost it all. (It's just amazing that the mind stores these little details; some people would give dearly to unlock these memories and some would wish to god that they would be lost forever.)

When I say that my life has been about language I'm referencing mostly the spoken language. When I speak it takes time for me to find words and pronounce them properly. I have to ask, at times, what terms and expressions mean... even some of the simplest and most well known. The last couple of job interviews have been a testament to this fact; not to mention my new voice. Awful.

The written language seems to be a way for me to slow down and take my time to express, well, everything. I can stop for the right word or right name; I can think and edit what topic I'm going to write about when I'm in the shower or laying back and listening to music in the dark. I read recently that "... as a writer, some of your best lines are the ones you delete." I've edited several choice lines already; if they were to be spoken, I wouldn't be able to go back and delete.