I got a clothesline (and fifty clothespins) for my birthday. I came home after a week away and there it was strung between the house and the fence. I cannot really explain in words how beautiful I think it is or the level of happiness that string has brought me already. It brings me out of the hot dryer room into the sunshiney evenings that are all too finite. It has elevated a chore to a different height and has restored some order to the place.
We talk to ourselves everyday, all day (and night) for the whole of our lives. We started talking to ourselves before we knew we were a self, we forget what we said because we forget everything from before...when we were too young and busy developing our brain to remember those early years. There is still lingering residue of long forgotten conversations I have had with myself as a toddler sitting around in the crevices...sloughing off occasionally into words I tell myself still. We talk non-stop, and not just with dialogue. Our goosebumps communicate to us, our tingly feelings, our neurons, our peripheal vision. They are all submitting data into our self and expecting us to react, respond or all to often, expecting what they are sending us will be ignored. After all that talking, you'd think we'd know what we think about most things, but occasionally we are stumped. Unless we stop what we are doing and really concentrate sometimes that voice(s) ...
lovely. such a simple thing, and an amazing place to stash kidwork for one's viewing pleasure...
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