Borders

non-subject: "outside me"

aww ~ 03/17/10

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I wonder if I can even write tonight.

Sometimes I feel I should write to a form - a form of memoir, that memoir isn't memoir unless it paints a specific scene. Sometimes I feel I'm less creative when I write scenes; I sometimes feel that I have to think more linearly to write a scene.

I think I like writing in and out of scenes; at least for now.  Isn't that how my mind works anyway?  

My mind doesn't track just one thought. It weaves in and and out, like going from room to room. That's what I do in my home, constantly changing rooms.

My body is like that, in and out and moving within itself.

I think of the mind being all through the physical form, the body. I don't think of the mind as being limited to my brain, but rather laced throughout my biology directing, orchestrating, pumping, signaling.

I'm going absolutely no where with this piece of scribblage. 

"Absolutely nowhere." Hmm...I don't think such a realm exists, do I?

I finally got to Borders Bookstore this afternoon around 5:15. I had wanted to get there earlier. 

I had also wanted to walk at least a couple miles before heading to Borders. I never did the walk. The night still holds time to perhaps get a mile in before bedtime.

I meandered through Borders to find a place to sit, a place I'd feel intimate with.  

I used to like the back of the store where once sat a wooden table with wood-slat chairs; it could seat six. I called the area my grotto, that wooden table surrounded on all sides by travel books. Prior to the wooden table, there was a 1950's Leave-it-to-Beaver Formica-top table with matching chairs. I had liked it even more than the wooden table. Beaver's table was a marbled green color and could seat four.

Now there is no table. A couple years back, management decided to rid the store of my grotto space.  Us table visitors, poets and journalers and book travelers and dreamers, were disappointed and dispersed.

Today, as I persued the store, I found a black faux-leather upholstered chair. It sat near the edge of the children's section in the rear of the store, its back to the front of the store. Behind its back stood a bookshelf, of what kinds of books I'm not sure. In front of it, on the back wall, were parenting and pregnancy books. To the right as I sat in the chair were how-to educational books, from unschooling to public schooling. To the left was a walkway leading from a hall to the main store area, a walkway separating the children's section from the other store areas.

This would be my intimate spot for an hour, in this faux-leather chair at the back of the store at the edge of the children's section.

I pulled out my composition book, one I bought recently for my new life with my new goals. I'm working on listing goals and dreams, endeavoring to find my purpose, what it is I want now. Endeavoring to spend time doing what I want instead of what others want of me.

I think I've discovered that what I want is space to create. Physical space. Mental space. Emotional space. Commitment space. Relationship space.

As I sat in the black faux-leather chair I noticed the carpet that the chair rested upon. This carpet in the children's section pictures outerspace with heavenly spheres. I don't see an earth but rather gaseous-type planets like Jupiter and Saturn. There are what appears to be distant tiny galaxies. A few star-shaped entities are floating in the tapestry, but not many. The backdrop to the planets and heavenly spheres is colored with amorphous-type shadows of deep blue and black; though not totally amorphous as the patterns repeat themselves across the carpet.

This outerspace carpet in the children's section is edged by a 15-inch border of black carpet delineating the kid's space from the rest of the store. The rest of the store being mainly the adult space where the carpet is all the same color, a speckled-dull-neutral gray.

The 15-inch black carpet boundary brought to mind the asteroid belt in our solar system, separating the inner planets from the outer planets.  

The 15-inch black carpet boundary reminded me that our imaginations of childhood can become stifled into an adult dull, speckled, neutral grey.

As I was leaving the store, I walked the children's section to see if the 15-inch edge borders all the outerspace carpet area.  It does.

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