Un-heard

I’m not sure what the deal is with the past 2 weeks, but I have been in the foulest foulest mood. Irritated at myself. Irritated at people, places and things that are not myself. I just want everything to move as far away from me as possible. Just a few minutes ago, while waiting for the train, somebody stopped to ask me if this was the line for the train to Providence. But I could not hear him very well. Because I wasn’t wearing my hearing aids. Because I was avoiding hearing people. Which can be problematic when I do want to hear people. But I had no idea if I wanted to hear this person or not. At first, I thought he was going to ask me for money so I just shook my head ‘no.’ Then I actually did hear him ask someone else if it was the Providence train. But instead of feeling bad for not helping a stranger,  I thought, that’s presumptuous. Don’t you think it’s presumptuous for a stranger to  presume you can hear them or understand their language?  Muttered English is an entirely different language than spoken English.

And then there’s me. I keep dropping things. And then muttering “fuck!” to myself. If someone made a recording of me in my apartment these days, that would probably be the only word they would hear me utter.

I’m so glad you’re not around to hear it. I hope this is not really me.

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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