What does it mean to really know a person? Is it that you can reel off a handful of facts about their lives? You know their age, their hobbies, their kinks? To truly know someone, do you have to instinctively know how they would feel or react about or to a particular situation? I think perhaps not. I think people change and grow and evolve day by day, moment by moment sometimes, and those static facts can’t really capture the essence of a unique soul.
So take a moment to know me, as I am, sitting here, right now, talking to you. This is my biography of sixteen minutes past nine, on November 13th, 2018. In mere moments, it will be passed and gone, and perhaps it might seem pointless, but think of it this way. There is literally no way to be closer to me right now, than to live within my mind, my experience and my skin for just a moment. A life isn’t a grand thing, it’s a million tiny moments, a billion minute experiences. Here is mine:
My fingernails are just a shade too long, so I’m conscious of the way the corners of my middle fingers are slipping off the P and I keys while I type. It gives my typing a tiny stutter that’s barely noticeable. A half-breath mid-word. A half hour ago I washed my hair, and it’s curling damply on the back of my neck. I never dry my hair, because it gives me a giant fuzzy afro. Curse of the natural curls. I feel the edge of the wooden dining room chair pressed very slightly into my right thigh, where I’m sitting with my ankles crossed under the seat. This chair is so extremely old. I keep replacing it with fancy ‘comfortably ergonomic’ office chairs, but I can’t seem to find one I like as much as this old, rigid wooden thing. My right toes are bent, bearing the weight of my left foot as they rest against the heel. I do this subconsciously, for hours sometimes while I work, and only notice later once pins and needles kick in.
On my desk in front of me is a red wool hat. I have no idea where it came from. It appeared one day on the coat rack, possibly left behind by a friend or sister. Maybe it just appeared from the ether, who knows? I stop typing to briefly consider how cool it would be if things could just be beamed into existence this way. But what if you had no control over what appeared, and it was just anything that popped into your mind? A world of ‘don’t think of an alligator’ could be pretty dangerous. And frighteningly crammed with alligators. I wonder how dangerous alligators actually are? I don’t know. I’m in England, the most dangerous wildlife we have are squirrels and spice-heads.
It’s bizarre, the things that come into your head, isn’t it? Like when you’re drifting off and just sort of half-dreaming, and you inevitably get some stupid line of dialogue from an old Friends re-run stuck in your head, and it just plays on a loop forever. Could that be any more annoying? Stop. Correct a spelling error. Mouse button is sticky. Why is the mouse button sticky? Possibly because it’s also ancient, 22nd birthday gift from my little sister, studded with black plastic ‘gems’ that used to be sparkly. I’ll be sad when I have to replace it, I get unnaturally attached (or is it really that unnatural? Do we all get stupidly attached to little possessions?) to silly things like this.
Back beginning to ache just a little bit. Sit up straighter. That’s better. Must remember to keep good posture. I always forget and slump and am reminded by the dull ache in my mid-back that I’m no longer a sprightly teenager. Now I have to actually put in effort, horror of horrors. This afternoon I finished editing my Charity Drive session, and sent it along to Ember to be added to this year’s offerings. There’s a lingering sense of satisfaction in knowing that it’s done. The same satisfaction I always feel after finishing up a session, but this one has lingered a little longer. Not sure why. Possibly because I went the extra mile with creating an ambience for the background, rather than just using standard music. Took longer, sounds better. I like it, in any case.
Glance at the clock, notice that it’s now 9.30. It took THAT long to type, really? How much did I write, it can’t have been all that much. Am I typing unusually slowly? And that, my sweet, is me. In fourteen minutes, you have known me as well as I know myself, been as close to me as anyone could be. Almost as though you were inside my skin, right here with me. Just as I am with you, every time you put on your headphones and allow me to create your world.
What a strange thing it is we share.