evening, doctor
I’m an observer.
I’m always looking at people and trying to figure them out. Today as I was leaving the subway I passed by a woman heading down into the tunnel wearing very high heeled boots. I watched the expression on her face and felt like I instantly knew her story. She descended the stairs slowly, easing herself down every step with a wince. Every time her heel clicked down onto the step she carefully shifted her weight, all the while clutching onto the handrail with a white-knuckled grip. It was strange somehow to see her making such a concerted effort to hide the pain that she obviously felt; as if quietly hoping that no one would notice or judge her for wearing impractical shoes.
I feel like my mind is in a constant state of analysis. I sometimes try to hide it, as though the expression on my face is just something simple and trivial like uncomfortable shoes. But really...I am analyzing all the time.
A word, a sigh, a look. Looks are especially difficult. Sometimes you get this look as though you’re sorting through every thought you’ve ever had. . It’s a subtle and delicate process to watch a thought move through someone. Your eyes shift from left to right and then close briefly; a tenth of a second too long to qualify as blinking, but somehow too quick to save and hold on to. The whole thing just leaves me in a state of awe.
Actually, I’m in a state of transition right now. The whole thing is kind of terrifying. I can’t really describe it other than to say that at times I feel as though my heart, stomach and lungs have dissolved and run down into my shoes causing me to leave a trail of wet footprints in any direction that I run. I imagine people looking at them and telling me, “girl, you’re making a mess everywhere you go”.
The truth is, I used to be really insensitive. Whatever you wanted, whatever you needed, I couldn’t care less. It couldn’t have mattered less. And that was that. But now, more and more, these waves of uncertainty tattoo themselves just beneath my skin and in the right light, my body is a mural of your sighs and spectacular silence.
I’m always looking at people and trying to figure them out. Today as I was leaving the subway I passed by a woman heading down into the tunnel wearing very high heeled boots. I watched the expression on her face and felt like I instantly knew her story. She descended the stairs slowly, easing herself down every step with a wince. Every time her heel clicked down onto the step she carefully shifted her weight, all the while clutching onto the handrail with a white-knuckled grip. It was strange somehow to see her making such a concerted effort to hide the pain that she obviously felt; as if quietly hoping that no one would notice or judge her for wearing impractical shoes.
I feel like my mind is in a constant state of analysis. I sometimes try to hide it, as though the expression on my face is just something simple and trivial like uncomfortable shoes. But really...I am analyzing all the time.
A word, a sigh, a look. Looks are especially difficult. Sometimes you get this look as though you’re sorting through every thought you’ve ever had. . It’s a subtle and delicate process to watch a thought move through someone. Your eyes shift from left to right and then close briefly; a tenth of a second too long to qualify as blinking, but somehow too quick to save and hold on to. The whole thing just leaves me in a state of awe.
Actually, I’m in a state of transition right now. The whole thing is kind of terrifying. I can’t really describe it other than to say that at times I feel as though my heart, stomach and lungs have dissolved and run down into my shoes causing me to leave a trail of wet footprints in any direction that I run. I imagine people looking at them and telling me, “girl, you’re making a mess everywhere you go”.
The truth is, I used to be really insensitive. Whatever you wanted, whatever you needed, I couldn’t care less. It couldn’t have mattered less. And that was that. But now, more and more, these waves of uncertainty tattoo themselves just beneath my skin and in the right light, my body is a mural of your sighs and spectacular silence.
posted by diadima at 11:49 PM
7 Comments:
i think you should be a writer, not a waitress. or be both, it's up to you. the things you're writing about are concerning to me because i don't understand how you're feeling, but you say it so beautifully it doesn't matter.
TFG and I love to people watch.. patio's are the best for that.. or parks.
we are awfully critical though..
I wonder if people look at us the way we look at them, but I doubt they could care less.
We are all wrapped up in our own stuff and transition is no fun, I can relate. Once you get through it, though, its well worth it.
Nice post..I watch people too... They are usually sleeping though.
Calzone, we know. And you are not allowed to harass my little friend Dia. Don't make me get the shock collar!
Miss D, of course you used to be insensitive to other people! You're barely out of your teens, the prime time for self absorption!
Remember, you'll get through this hard patch. And you'll be smarter and stronger when you do. Do you think people get smart and strong by living a cushy life? Look at George Bush!
loz: thank you bella. and nothing to be concerned over- just venting mostly.
lmk: i'm getting through it. or its getting through me. either way- can't last forever.
calzone: and tied up too, right?
ubie: always the voice of reason. (hilarious reason at that). and i wouldn't bother with a shock collar...i have a sneaking suspicion that calzone probably enjoys them thoroughly.
the last three lines of this post are perfect. well done. i hope that you are hanging on tight...this ride will be over before you know it. someday you will look back at this time in your life and be grateful for it. it will feed your creativity for your remaining days.
maria: i like your rationale
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