Some things you can't unsee. I moved into my summer house today, and my room had a wheelie chair for the table. I sat on the chair. It rolled backwards, dragging me the unwilling participant along with it. The room was slanted. The house was slanted. Oh my God.
I looked around the room. You can say I saw things in a new light. The cupboard looked like it was about to fall. The dresser was probably about to slide down the room. It is going to crush into the door, and I was going to scream. My world is not level. It is slanted.
I looked up solutions online. Was the house going to collapse, taking all my stuff down with it? I have never seen a house collapse. I don't think I want to. Was I going to be in danger in any way? I don't know. I can't know. I don't know if it was the dizziness, or the fact that I just had to pack up all my things from my dorm room today, and packing is always so overwhelming. I see my life flashing before me, in the form of the shoes I've worn for so-and-so, during so-and-so; of papers and pictures that I've just tossed aside, not knowing they'd come back to remind me of mundane things I've done; of tissue boxes and hair conditioner and tampons that I go through like a sniffling, oiling, bleeding motherfucker. In the form of belongings that become physical reminders that a year has passed. It's too much. I don't like packing. I mean, it's kind of liberating in a way, to know you've gotten everything you own out of their hiding places and into a bag that you can do whatever to. Pick it up and move ten thousand miles away. Sure. But really, after you've packed all your shit from the middle drawer into a box, you're left standing there, staring at a box with all your belongings. They're all just ... jumbled up in there, mish-mashed, can't tell one from the other, they're just stuff now. And then you realize they've been "just stuff" all along, but that you've lovingly bought and cherished them anyway. It's a horrible feeling.
I've got to stop buying things.
This has happened to me before. Refer to time I had to pack up for America. A quote that came up then, is coming up now. The things you own end up owning you. I'm the perfect fucking cogwheel to the capitalist system. I breathe commodities. I become my commodities. My house is slanting, and all I can think about is what would happen to my things if this building collapses.
Which brings me back to the first point of this post. My slanted room. It's weird. I just went into the bathroom, and I felt like it was slanted the other way, but it was probably just the room being level. I am assured by a structural engineer in this page that nothing "catastrophic" will happen. I hope for my sake that this structural engineer was paying attention in structural engineering school.
No, nothing catastrophic will happen. If I listen to people on Yahoo answers, many bad things in the world would have happened. The cupboard is starting to look less like it's about to fall, and the dresser is not going to slide, unless I look at it long enough. Then again when I look at anything long enough, they all look like they're about to fall.
If the world was perfectly level, people wouldn't have had to invent those tiny door stop equivalents for pens. Right?
I looked around the room. You can say I saw things in a new light. The cupboard looked like it was about to fall. The dresser was probably about to slide down the room. It is going to crush into the door, and I was going to scream. My world is not level. It is slanted.
I looked up solutions online. Was the house going to collapse, taking all my stuff down with it? I have never seen a house collapse. I don't think I want to. Was I going to be in danger in any way? I don't know. I can't know. I don't know if it was the dizziness, or the fact that I just had to pack up all my things from my dorm room today, and packing is always so overwhelming. I see my life flashing before me, in the form of the shoes I've worn for so-and-so, during so-and-so; of papers and pictures that I've just tossed aside, not knowing they'd come back to remind me of mundane things I've done; of tissue boxes and hair conditioner and tampons that I go through like a sniffling, oiling, bleeding motherfucker. In the form of belongings that become physical reminders that a year has passed. It's too much. I don't like packing. I mean, it's kind of liberating in a way, to know you've gotten everything you own out of their hiding places and into a bag that you can do whatever to. Pick it up and move ten thousand miles away. Sure. But really, after you've packed all your shit from the middle drawer into a box, you're left standing there, staring at a box with all your belongings. They're all just ... jumbled up in there, mish-mashed, can't tell one from the other, they're just stuff now. And then you realize they've been "just stuff" all along, but that you've lovingly bought and cherished them anyway. It's a horrible feeling.
I've got to stop buying things.
This has happened to me before. Refer to time I had to pack up for America. A quote that came up then, is coming up now. The things you own end up owning you. I'm the perfect fucking cogwheel to the capitalist system. I breathe commodities. I become my commodities. My house is slanting, and all I can think about is what would happen to my things if this building collapses.
Which brings me back to the first point of this post. My slanted room. It's weird. I just went into the bathroom, and I felt like it was slanted the other way, but it was probably just the room being level. I am assured by a structural engineer in this page that nothing "catastrophic" will happen. I hope for my sake that this structural engineer was paying attention in structural engineering school.
No, nothing catastrophic will happen. If I listen to people on Yahoo answers, many bad things in the world would have happened. The cupboard is starting to look less like it's about to fall, and the dresser is not going to slide, unless I look at it long enough. Then again when I look at anything long enough, they all look like they're about to fall.
If the world was perfectly level, people wouldn't have had to invent those tiny door stop equivalents for pens. Right?
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