Brain in a Box
HOME and BODY to me have in common that idea of a vessel or shell in which we are bound. I often think that within these boxes is me, woefully isolated and misunderstood, in all my glorious eccentricity, bouncing around like a little rubber ball against the walls. In my house, I’m frenetically making things of all sorts, going up and down the stairs in search of materials needed. In my body, my brain is firing, all those neurons at war. Sometimes I wonder who sees me through whatever windows. Does anyone even care.
This quote above is from my short story Migration, once published in Bite Magazine which I can no longer find online. So it goes! Like the regurgitating lady in my previous post, I will find a way to resurface this someday.
And hand it to you.
P.S. Really psyched I found a box to illustrate this brain-in-a-box post that says Meathead Movers on it. Here’s to the small stuff that matters!