Socrates the Cat, Peas and Nuts

I laugh, a lot. I laugh to myself, I laugh out loud and I laugh in an obnoxious loud cackle-like way.

So, remember Socrates the cat? The cat who was staring at me in what appeared to be a condescending and judgmental way? ...But I concluded he was just pondering self-worth and great wisdoms, so I didn't take it personally. Well, poor Socrates. I sit down in my car a bit ago, heated by the warm Autumn sun (what?) and notice a large sheet resting on my windshield. I hop out and grab the paper; Lord, please say the owner wasn't watching, because Socrates' picture was largely in the middle of the flyer, with a huge "LOST" stated above and...well, I laughed. The letters "l o s t" even have a sad face in the "o", and ya know, it is upsetting. Poor Socrates, all alone in the streets of Racine that are full of hoodlums, possums and very sexually active dragonflies (I felt like I was in the book of Exodus for a while--the locusts substituted for dragonflies, everywhere). To my defense, such laughter was unavoidable! Socrates had the same grumpy look in the picture, as if he was frowning at the very thought of my existence! His eyebrows (if cats have such a thing?) are hanging low over his bulging blue eyes and he looked as i f he might attack if you get too close to his thought bubble. I doubt Socrates is lost. I bet he's chosen to go on a walk-about through the streets, teaching and lecturing those thirsty for knowledge.

As I'm chuckling to myself on my drive away from this piece of paper and Socrates's former home, I wonder if anyone else would find these events funny?

There are "two peas in a pod"; there are 2 nuts in a shell, normally. But, there are lots of peas in a pod actually, and I don't think there are ANY peas in my pod. And sometimes the nuts I cracked open at Lonestar only housed one nut. Am I that one nut? Insane and giggling to myself; Incredibly content and amused, yet oblivious to the petrified on-lookers. I'm not bothered by the thought, but I have noticed I'm the only laughing in my classes at things I perceive to be blatantly humorous. I laugh, alone. It doesn't take away from the humor, but I do think hilarity would strengthen, should other bah ha ha's be added to my own.

Oh well. Farewell Socrates. I hope you make it home.

Over and out.

Coping Mechanisms

I live in a state over a thousands miles away from my hospitable and beach-y hometown. I no longer hear crowds roar as "TOUCHDOWN - PIRAAATES" is proclaimed from the football stadium, not too far from my home. My parents are not a drive away and "Salmon Wednesdays" at their large wooden table are not listed in my day planner. My sister and brother-in-law aren't around the corner to tell jokes or steal my clothes. I never pass the neighborhood where I totalled my first car, my ever-growing elementary school is too far to catch a glimpse of and my favorite sushi place only tempts me in my mind-never because of its nearness.

I live in a new home now. I attend a university much different than the one I attended before, mainly because the one I first attended I saw every day for 20 years before I sat as student in its classrooms. I used to work in the office I visited as a young girl, and instead now I drive to a brick building void of memories. I have friends, but I'm not sure I could pick them out in baby pictures or name their 12-year-old woes.

I am surrounded by unfamiliarity. Nothing feels known or experienced, just...new. The food on my plates feels funny on my tongue, and my winter clothes feel odd layered on my body. I'm used to watermelon and sundresses, and now I have soup and heavy jackets. I love these new tastes and sounds, but sometimes I shockingly recall- this isn't what I've always known.

My brain plays tricks on me. I hear a raspy voice, and I turn around to see my old highschool friend. A car in the distance approaches, and I wait patiently for it to come close enough so I can wave to my Dad's ol' golfing buddy. Certain flips of hair, laughs and hippie shoes often assure me I'm seeing visions of home, but here's the thing: It's never my old buddy. It's never my third grade teacher or my gymnastics coach. It's a cold stranger, to which I hold no bond or memory.

I know I live in Wisconsin, and I know I don't have scrapbooks filled with the people and sounds of this winter wonderland, but my mind always seeks to familiarize the unknown around me. I can't seem to leave the adventure a mystery, or men and woman as strangers. Instead, I subconsciously cope by giving memories to the nameless immigrants walking this land. It's a sort of mental "blankie" I suppose; imaginary friends to help me feel secure when I realise all that's around me is foreign.

Yes, without my command, my mind chooses to cope by filtering the unknown into my only realm of known. I wonder when the day will come that I feel safe without recognizing what surrounds me, or is it I'll always live in this discomfort until I form a ground-work of memories that suffice for my desire for familiarity. I wonder...

Over and out.