khakicat

khakicat

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There is always noise around me. I make a distinction between noise and sounds. Sounds are distinguishable and associated with something that I am paying attention to. Noise is just the sound of voices murmuring, the chaotic thoughts in my mind, birds chirping, a fan blowing air. Unfortunately, there are too many things in my life which should be sounds, which deserve my attention, yet I treat them like noise. The conversation of people whom I love, explanations, lessons, stories. It becomes lost in the noise of the moment or gets lost in the noise of my mind.

She lounged despondently among the cushions and pillows of her plush, posh sofa. Her life really was perfect. There was nothing really worth changing. Yet, she longed for an imperfection and an unknown to explore.

The gardener laid down his spade. The tennis player slammed down an ace. The little girl gave her mother a basket of paper hearts. The young man sat in a field searching for a four leaf clover.

Just as glistening copper fades to a sickly green, our once brilliant, beaming love corroded into ill hue that no polish could ever restore.

The airbag encompassed her face. A moment of terror. Another of rippling pain. Then nothing.

There are so many parasites in my life: clingy people who just talk and take while I just listen and wait. I want to get them off of me, to be free and able to spend my time around people whom I actually enjoy and who enjoy me as well. But at the same time, I know that these parasitic people are trying to live and socialize, just like me. I'm afraid that if I cut them off, I will hurt them, the way a flea thrown from a dog will starve. Maybe they will just find another host to feed their egos. But what if they don't? I know what it is to be lonely and I don't want anyone, not even a parasite to feel that way.

Melody's mind was in a constant state of transition. Like a butterfly, it flitted from one thought to another, never lingering on one for more than a moment. Some called her crazy. The doctors and teachers called it ADHD. Her father thought it was a result of all the "damned technology these days." But Melody's mother saw a different side. She saw her daughter's genius; her gift. Not everyone could look at an object, a person, a situation accurately from every angle in a moment.

I haven't seen the play "Death of Salesman," but it's a classic and I'm an English major so I'm sure we'll meet at some point. Don't know why we haven't been introduced yet. I think I may have read an excerpt from it once, but that's kind of like hearing about someone without actually meeting and knowing them. Maybe I'll use it in my 2015 Reading Challenge.

"I used to hold the key; next the walls were closed on me and I discovered that my castles stand on pillars of salt and pillars of sand," the Coldplay lyrics echoed from the next room over. "Can you even comprehend what has happened to me, to us?" Ben asked. "Everything I've worked for is gone. Gone," he sat down and ran his hands through his hair. "All undone in a day," he whispered. Alice paced the kitchen. "I'm sure there's a way to make amends," she said. "Just explain the situation to them. They're rational people, and once they see it's only a misunderstanding, everything will be fine." There was silence for a moment, then she turned and looked at him searchingly. "Of course, it is only a misunderstanding. You obviously wouldn't have embezzled the money." He heard the slight query in her voice. It was more of a question than a statement. "She actually doubts me," he thought. "You can do everything right your whole life, but with one little mistake, all is forgotten."

Tracking footprints was what we did for fun. During our breaks from school, my mismatched group of elementary school friends and I scanned the muddy tractor ruts along the orchard's perimeter in search of deer and coyote prints. During these peaceful hours, the divisions between us disappeared. United in searching for abnormalities in the soft earth, we ceased to see flaws in each other.

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writing since 2011 · 69 entries · 68 days shown up

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on this day 15 years ago

khakicat wrote about elastic
“Miranda pulled the elastic hair band back and snapped it absentmindedly. It is strange, she thought, how inanimate objects can be stretched and bent and still return to their shape so easily. Why cou…”

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momentmindeyesairwordsnowwordlovechildpainfilledforeverfriendnoisepotwater