(no subject)
I spent most of today in my room studying and reading for one terrible mid-term that will happen on Wednesday.
I had a rehearsal for Acting at 6:30, and then right from there an Oklahoma rehearsal till 10.
I decided to take a power nap before I left for the rehearsals, cause I had a bit of a head ache and my eyes hurt.
I set my alarm clock for 15 minutes and layed on top of my bed. After a bit, I decided it would be better if I got under the blanket.
I rolled under the blanket, and then, like a wave that comes out of nowhere when you're safely standing on the shore, in a split second, I smelled a memory, in a wave.
Sometimes, you have memories that are images in your mind.
But this memory was purely a smell.
The Cover Girl foundation, the blemish cream we both use, the dryer sheets, the warm skin, and the pillowcase and blanket that, though made for a one-person bed, always seemed to fit two perfectly. My room was completely dark, so, as I layed there, and smelled that smell, I flashed myself into my bed at home.
It was a flash - a wave - a split second - but such a precise memory, conjured by that brief smell that went up my nose. For that flash, everything was normal, and I was warm again, and that smell was familiar - and wrapped around me - and so close I could touch it.
So, I moved. I had the memory, and in the next second, I moved my whole body, so that all the elements wouldn't come together again, creating that one smell.
And my window is open, and it's cold.
I had a rehearsal for Acting at 6:30, and then right from there an Oklahoma rehearsal till 10.
I decided to take a power nap before I left for the rehearsals, cause I had a bit of a head ache and my eyes hurt.
I set my alarm clock for 15 minutes and layed on top of my bed. After a bit, I decided it would be better if I got under the blanket.
I rolled under the blanket, and then, like a wave that comes out of nowhere when you're safely standing on the shore, in a split second, I smelled a memory, in a wave.
Sometimes, you have memories that are images in your mind.
But this memory was purely a smell.
The Cover Girl foundation, the blemish cream we both use, the dryer sheets, the warm skin, and the pillowcase and blanket that, though made for a one-person bed, always seemed to fit two perfectly. My room was completely dark, so, as I layed there, and smelled that smell, I flashed myself into my bed at home.
It was a flash - a wave - a split second - but such a precise memory, conjured by that brief smell that went up my nose. For that flash, everything was normal, and I was warm again, and that smell was familiar - and wrapped around me - and so close I could touch it.
So, I moved. I had the memory, and in the next second, I moved my whole body, so that all the elements wouldn't come together again, creating that one smell.
And my window is open, and it's cold.