Sometimes I just feel like I’m looking at the world from inside an aquarium, but without the water. So maybe it’s a terrarium. That is the one with the lizards and chameleons in it, isn’t it? I digress. I’m looking out, feeling a little sad, but not knowing why exactly. It’s just like there are thin threads of heartbrokenness swirling up my nostrils and down my throat with every breath I take, and I feel detached. Even the sounds I hear seem muffled.
They cleaned our windows today in The Ivory Tower at Real Work. It’s been a year, and the acid rain had deposited a layer of dust so thick on the outside that, after they were cleaned, my colleague exclaimed: “I can see cars!” She overlooks a four-lane highway. We are blessed with huge, 8 x 6 pane windows that stretch up two metres, so cleaning them changes the light completely. It’s suddenly crystallised.
Oh, you see? I’m making no sense, I can tell, but I’m too far detached from earth to be able to do anything about it. I’m sure the clean windows are explaining my terrarium feelings, but the sad detachment? Where’d that come from?
World Penguin Day
1 day ago