Brown noise

Riding the train with white noise in my ears. Actually brown noise. I prefer the lower pitches. I wish I had actually learned to play the acoustic bass when I was in 8th grade instead of merely being photographed with one, pretending. Until one finds one’s authentic instrument, one is always pretending something or other.

My knee was killing me today, The CBD oil and lotion and vape did not seem to do very much, except for making me tense, which may have been the caffeine CDB combo. Stimulated in every sense of the word. Is what I was.

This was a sad day because I had one of my final appointments with my knee spirit guide Katherine who is going off to get married. I did not realize that physical therapists could not be physical therapists once they are married. That’s kind of a big sacrifice, don’t you think? She said that I would assigned to another PT, a man named Merritt. And I already do not like him. The problem being that he is a he. And for whatever reason, I don’t trust men as physical therapists. Although I’ve never had one. But I guess that changes now and wouldn’t it be my luck to work with someone named Merritt. That tells me all I need to know.

But for all I know, he could be the miracle worker. It’s so silly of me to make these pre-judgements. I wonder how I would feel if his name was not Merritt. Now that I think about, I’m beginning to worry that I may disappoint him. I might think he’s great, but then I might learn that I did not live up to his expectations. I think I would feel horrible about that.

I have this image of Merritt as kind of big muscular round man with a loud voice and a yellow tennis shirt. The kind of person I would hope would not sit next to me on the train. And then if he did, I would feel trapped. Suffocated. Unable to focus on anything else. If we were sitting right next to each other on these short commuter train seats, I would try to make myself as small as possible. Or if that didn’t work, maybe invisibility. And if that didn’t work, maybe I could wait it out and learn to accept him. That would be quite a breakthrough. Who knows? It might even be good for me.

And then I will be glad Merritt entered my life. I just have to learn to be more open.

About The Lost Pedestrian

In my wanderings throughout the moments/days/years, I try in earnest to find the mystical within the mundane and the mundane within the mystical, oftentimes confusing one from the other. I have wandered and roamed through many a city, many a town, in a state of wonder and bewilderment, without necessarily going anywhere. I am easily lost, but eventually found. (I am guessing you have just found me). My sincere hope is that you will find Something in this warehouse of thought, memory and false memory, words, numbers, tangents, murmurs, echoes (lots and lots of echoes), voices, dreams, and other paraphernalia.
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