All Good Things
I remember extending some part of me forward. I had no idea what or where, just something forward. I was hardly conscious of the fact that I was even doing it in the first place, but I was, however, vaguely aware of the sensation of being met with weak resistance by some unknown, warm, soft material. I hadn't yet formed a visual model of what it was yet, but my lower brain functioning wasn't reacting with alarm, so it must have been something familiar, or at least decidedly non-threatening. It was awfully wonderful stuff, whatever it was. Mmm... Come here, cozy thing! I want you touching more of me... I grasped for it, and it yielded to my will with a certain ease that made me feel truly, if not briefly, omnipotent. That's when I ran into my first snag. I abruptly realized that I did not contort quite so well as I had anticipated. Why can't I contort? I need more of the cozy thing happening in more places! With this realization came images flashing through my inattentive mind which I could only identify with as being “my arms.” It was one of my arms I had inadvertently swung outwards. Limits! I imagined shouting in protested. Why do I have these? At that moment, it was as though some unspecified mental construct operating, or simply masquerading, as 'mental police' came knocking at my hazy notion of a door inquiring about a disturbance.
“Yes? Can I help you?” I say, to which the police-construct robotically explained the reason for its visit.
“Sorry to disturb you at this frequency. We've received a complaint from the Amygdala residence. It's come to our attention you wanted to achieve something you don't appear to have the means to do, and that there's been some kind of cognitive conflict. Is everything okay?”
“Conflict? Here? Oh, surely that must have been next door. Hippocampus has been in something of a foul mood lately.”
“I'm afraid the report specified that this disturbance occurred in your domain. As you can see, your neighbors,” the officer gestured outwards from the steps of the doorway, “are all still asleep and largely inactive, with the exception of yourself and Amygdala who was just getting ready for an early shift, as I understand it.”
I noted the immediate spacial regions the officer had gestured to were, for all intents and purposes, just empty lots where houses might have been. Empty, that is, except for Amygdala's awful, gazillion-year old looking house across the way deplete with worn welcome mat, old wooden wind chimes, and faded signs denoting true ownership to some mangy old mutt. Oh look, here comes Amygdala now! Just pulling out of the driveway, Amygdala smiled and waved from within a beaten up station wagon passing by on the way to god knows where out of some incredibly irritating work habit that I was sure was going to be the death of me. Don't you wave at me! You're not fooling anyone! You wipe that smug expression off your face right now or I swear I'll – I digressed, smiled and waved back. Yes, one might say that things weren't always the cheeriest between our two theaters of operation.
“Oh, that conflict!” I decided cooperation was a better life choice at that point. “I assure you, it's nothing, officer. The thing that needed doing didn't need doing that badly. I concede the desire for the event to occur as imagined, and I am quite content with this being the effected outcome instead.”
“Affected outcome.”
“I'm sorry?”
“You said words wrong. Stop it.”
“Oh... My bad... Uhm, 'affected' outcome, then, I guess.” Freaking Grammar Nazi! I smiled.
“Very well. If there is any potential further conflict, please just keep an eye on the volume, understood?” I imagined articulating something resembling an affirmative response, and the officer-construct faded, leaving me to pretend – quietly – to be buddy buddy with the idea of limbs that were incapable of placing cozy things where they needed to go. Well! I guess that's it then. I'm forever doomed to experience a world without maximum coziness. I'm not so sure I can endure such a fate! Hmm... Hehe... Fate. Faaate. Fateee. Fay tah. Fayetuh. Feaduh. Faaaeeeeaaaaeeee... I think, at some point around that time, I lost coherent use of language sense. The words instead became spacial objects I could rearrange with mental hands (which, I might add, could contort the way they're supposed to), into semi-solid, malleable masses of drifting nonsense in the same way playdo stick men become, uhm... What's a good word for 'blobs' and 'chunks'? Blooobs and chunk-k-k-ks. Baalloooobs and caachunnkits... (and on it went). It had never occurred to me to acquire such a word-item for my vocabulinventory before. Perhaps it was because I only considered it a fascinating state or shape for something (be it playdo, words, or what have you) to be in at obscenely early hours in the morn – Whhaaa no! NOT okay!! … That was close. I almost thought the unthinkable! No, let there be peace and weird space-word dreams and nearly maximum coziness uninterrupted by irritable neighbors driving by conjuring up and summoning forth demon peacekeepers for as long as mentally possible! I pleaded into expanding, nonsensicalword-sounds which, easily amused, I promptly went back to playing with, only this time the dog joined me.
