Memory Lane
Everyday, any number of things can send my thoughts on a tangent in to my past. From short jaunts into the recent past, to longer treks back to my childhood, I never know what's going to trigger the trip or how far it'll go.
Earlier today, I sat on the floor near a box of LEGO. I was thinking I should write something today, then remembered the box behind me and thought "Maybe I'll break out the LEGO instead ... they've been packed away since I left Portland." Reason won out and I eventually sat down at my laptop to write, but not before a quick trip.
I sat on the floor in my bedroom, LEGOs spread all around me. Most were put together in some way or another. Some were sets built from the instructions, some were sets taken apart from instructions and put together in another way. One in particular was I ship I built specifically to be nigh-unbreakable. I was mostly a cube with little wings and a window for the pilot. But I could drop it to the ground from a few feet up and nothing would break off.
I sat in the overstuffed chair, my feet up on the ottoman and the laptop in my lap. I opened LiveJournal to write, but caught up on the goings on of my friends instead.
While I read, my proprioception, my sense of where my body is in space and where my parts are in relation to each other, went a little off kilter. I knew I wasn't moving, and hadn't moved, but it felt like I was leaning back. I enjoy these sensations when they happen, and generally try not to move; when I move, the illusion is broken. I couldn't see anything extra, but I felt like my head was about two feet above and behind where it should have been. My arms felt longer and I felt stretched in general.
I lay on the top bunk of my bunk bed, in my room upstairs. I don't know it's a proprioception illusion, but I do know I feel much taller than normal. My hands feel as though they could hold the whole of the world in them if I wanted. I turn my head and I feel normal again, the effect dispelled.
Earlier today, I sat on the floor near a box of LEGO. I was thinking I should write something today, then remembered the box behind me and thought "Maybe I'll break out the LEGO instead ... they've been packed away since I left Portland." Reason won out and I eventually sat down at my laptop to write, but not before a quick trip.
I sat on the floor in my bedroom, LEGOs spread all around me. Most were put together in some way or another. Some were sets built from the instructions, some were sets taken apart from instructions and put together in another way. One in particular was I ship I built specifically to be nigh-unbreakable. I was mostly a cube with little wings and a window for the pilot. But I could drop it to the ground from a few feet up and nothing would break off.
I sat in the overstuffed chair, my feet up on the ottoman and the laptop in my lap. I opened LiveJournal to write, but caught up on the goings on of my friends instead.
While I read, my proprioception, my sense of where my body is in space and where my parts are in relation to each other, went a little off kilter. I knew I wasn't moving, and hadn't moved, but it felt like I was leaning back. I enjoy these sensations when they happen, and generally try not to move; when I move, the illusion is broken. I couldn't see anything extra, but I felt like my head was about two feet above and behind where it should have been. My arms felt longer and I felt stretched in general.
I lay on the top bunk of my bunk bed, in my room upstairs. I don't know it's a proprioception illusion, but I do know I feel much taller than normal. My hands feel as though they could hold the whole of the world in them if I wanted. I turn my head and I feel normal again, the effect dispelled.