Running thoughts

I was running this gravel, industrial loop in our town (a great idea executed as tastelessly as possible) and I had a sensory memory moment remembering that swift and heavy sensation that buzzes through you when you lock eyes with someone and realize you're both seeing past social norms and distractions (clothing, surrounding, physical and psychological contexts) to an all-revealing, mystery-solved snap of utter comprehension. Clean doors and shit, Man. Yogis meditate to similar levels of consciousness, Emerson referred to it has being sucked up into an all-seeing transparent eyeball.* It leaves faster than it came, and there may be no way to explain or even fully acknowledge the overwhelmingly robust swell of contentment, that blinks out so quickly you half doubt it ever happened. Sex leaves a wet spot or two, but has similar "did that really happen?" qualities. Close emotional proximity doesn't catalyze these chance occurrences - they are best experienced between two people who know nothing of one another. This allows limitless contexts - the look of understanding just before you leave the bar with someone you don't really know, a long, shared look of profound sexual longing through a window as the train pulls away from the platform - and is born of raw, universal coincidence ruled by timing immeasurable to our best rubrics.

Whatever anyone decides it is nor isn't, it's something I haven't felt in a while with another human being, there's no guarantee I ever will again. It's a rare thing, yet to go without it feels like deprivation, malnutrition. On a less general, more personal level, I often associate it with casual sex and less "serious" parts of my life and times. It's not exactly the sex itself I miss, it's the mystery and newness of a stranger (one whose ways are not known by me, not some random dude in line at the hot dog vendor) - not an easily replicated sensation. If I believed in heaven or a perfect state, it would probably be that feeling prolonged into eternity.

That's what I think about when I run (when I'm not thinking about how my chest cavity is buckling and death imminent.)

* I does love me some transparent eyeball. There. I said it.

Mondays happen

Sean is hungover and I'm feeling awfully sleep today. But, we had a good weekend spend at home cleaning (the yard is now plum-free, for a while), cooking and leading the mutt around. It feels like we had a week off, which amazes me. When I first got back into the work week, it seemed like I had zero free time to myself; the more adjusted I get, the more time it feels like I regain. Once we move closer to Stanford our home lives will get at least an hour and half longer. That will be great. Maybe we'll get a bathtub or dishwasher out of the deal, as well. Who knows?

My project to I'm haul my brain of out of storage and start preparations for PhD applications is under way. I've re-started a book on Modern Critical Theory and checked out a Norton Anthology of American Lit (the short one, only 6,000 pages) from the library - phase one of the great GRE subject cram. It feels good to have a personal higher purpose than simply showing up for work in clean(ish) clothing.

Oh yeah, clothes. I needs some. I needs some yesterday. Ever since I started yoga my body has entirely changed shape. I weigh the same, maybe a little more due to some muscle gain, but my proportions are all different now. So, my favorite jeans make me feel dumpy and none of my non-denim pants fit at all. The big problem here is that I hate shopping: the stores, the pushy/non-existent sales people, spending money - all of it. Nothing ever seems to fit, either and I have no idea what size I am. Small? Smaller than most but not exactly skinny? Negative 3? I almost wish I had a job with a uniform, except that uniforms never actually fit me well.

Ah well, I'm off to google Formalism.