Friday, February 27, 2009
Below the Surface
I won't say it's a "Guy" thing; that's may too much of an Auto da Fe opening symptomatic of the recent decade's rant against the stupidity of men. I'll steer away (tires screeching in the background) form the generic and park in the specific. Being of sound Slavic mind and therefore leaning heavily toward the paranoid and suspicious, I tend to power down my computer completely if I stray away for more than an hour or so. Visions of slithery Internet snakes or Ethernet versions of those invisible Amazonian insects that scoot up one's privates invading my files were on constant loop play in my head. Other pictures of my computer self-combusting and burning down our house or even our whole block also flashed in my head whenever I'd left my PC running. So, shutting down was a solution for my own sanity, perhaps unconsciously affected by the workings of my own brain. When I'm sleeping, my 2nd most favorite activity, my brain shuts down as well. Dreams perhaps are concocted, but I could never relate them when I've awakened as my slate is clean. I'm convinced the majority of my brain shuts down so it doesn't catch fire while my head's on the pillow or that it isn't affected by murmurings in my ear left by my Ever Loving Wife.
"Books! Books! Throw out your books!"
or
"CD's! CD's! Melt down your CD's!"
The thing is, when I do wake up, the brain goes through its booting up process and I'm simply capable of only trundling off to the bathroom, taking a shower, and semi-clothing myself. You know, the basic stuff. My other coping programs such as speech, comprehension, wit? Well, they're buried deep in my brain's drive and I'm happy to see them engaged within an hour or two. By the time I've arrived at work an hour later, I appear to be a fully functioning human being.
My Ever-Loving Wife? Well, her brain is never at rest, even when her body is. Perhaps, it goes to a hibernation state, from which a quick start-up is possible. But I doubt it; I'm positive her brain is perpetually engaged in activity. Her dreams are multi-technical productions involving casts of thousands, none of which have been duplicated/triplicated/quadrupulated by software chicanery.
So, when we awake, we are at two different points of human comprehension. I am still in the Cro-Magnon state while the ELW is of a future species not yet recognized.
Excuse my long intro, as the table should be finely set for a comment she left me with, an Ohrwurm, if you will, that has accompanied me all the way to work and into this blog entry.
While I was grunting and preparing to land a little peck on her cheek before the Daily Grind departure, she peered into my eyes and said that our love affair is definitely (in her words) "gone subcutaneous". Puzzled, I wriggled uncontrollably and starting scratching my arms, trying to feel how that would feel. I mean, my ELW being under my skin. She was right and so was Frank. She's deep in the heart of me.
A great itch to be scratchin'
"Subcutaneous Love". Hmm, sounds like a song Andrew Bird would come up with.
Labels: Married Life, Self-Therapy
Comments:
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Subcutaneous. Deep in the heart. Integral to the plasma. Those require a very special person -- well, two really. Quite an achievement, that.
And the Vulcan mind meld, don't forget, WP.
ROFLMAO, I just had to retype "Vulcan".
(I must be on some other plant subconsciously...try substituting the "c" for a second "v".)
Oh, I am such a punster.
Ahem.
You are such a romantic, Dark-man.
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ROFLMAO, I just had to retype "Vulcan".
(I must be on some other plant subconsciously...try substituting the "c" for a second "v".)
Oh, I am such a punster.
Ahem.
You are such a romantic, Dark-man.
<< Home Verging on Pertinence Just some more disposable thoughts clogging up the hinterlands
