The House

Not sure what to write now that I'm finally in front of a keyboard and am at the ready, but I was driving home from work today and my fingers were itching to write something.  VnV Nation was playing, Sentinel to be exact, and the movement of the truck's tires clinging to the pavement while whipping around the soft, fluid corner was mesmerizing, if but for a moment.  The House came into view, its green shutters flashing before my eyes as if from a dream (is it?) and the tiered garden tipping towards me in greeting.  The rock-lined stream soon came into view, wrapping itself around a half of the house, caressing its yard of grass and woods and completing the dreamlike picture in my restless mind.

My mind, as it were, flashed back to when I was younger and I heard the words, "I will still hope there are better days to come" over the speakers of the truck, perfectly deep and resonant.  I felt caressed, or rather, my mind did; the synthesizers tickled the very essence of its being, a million little pins lightly touching my temples and energizing each side of my brain, lighting it up like a million stars in a swirl of ever-changing night sky sped up for humans to see more distinctly.

Just as quickly as it had come, the house had passed, and with it, the moment.  The rush of adrenaline over the experience began to fade with the waning speed limit but I felt my cheeks flush and the energy that had formed within my spine had made it into my eager fingertips.  The wheel was no longer enough and they tingled and twitched with urgency.  I could do nothing for them at the time, which frustrated them, but they've grown used to that and eventually gave up the fight.

I arrived home shortly after this, and went through the usual motions of domesticity, which I have grown so fond of:  Parking in the driveway, greeting my husband, settling in behind the computer, the chatter about each of our days.  My attention kept drifting to the computer, of course - it's what I do, day in and day out, for the majority of my time is spent preying upon the springs of plastic buttons.

An email I read prompted me to write about one of my experiences with mental imagery, which I did with glee.  Then we took off to pick up another vehicle and do some light shopping.  In addition to the external conversation with my husband, my mind was having its own internal conversations with itself.  This normally drives me mad - having to listen to two parties at the same time, even if one is truly out loud and the other is merely a swirling mass of thoughts.  Nonetheless, it occurs, and this time I wasn't all that confused by it all.  I could feel that pent up energy mounting, however.

Why, I thought, who cares what people do?  I have this stuff I want to do, here and now, and there are things I want to accomplish in the future.  I must seize my life by the horns and redirect it into something more productive.  No, wait, I thought.  I won't say "must."  I will say "will."  I will seize my life by the horns and redirect it towards a more productive task.  I will give it purpose, even if it ends up being meaningless to everyone else besides myself.

We took separate vehicles home and I found myself listening to the same song, Sentinel, by VnV Nation.  "I will still hope there are better days to come."  The House flashed before my eyes again, superimposed upon the highway home.  Highway to Heaven.  I replayed the song at least once, my fingers eagerly anticipating my arrival home, knowing that this time, they would win.  Energy pulsed through me, my mind alight with life and new direction.  Somewhere, somehow, deep within my psyche, a decision had been reached.

No longer would I mourn for a friendship that never was, and no longer would I deny my fingers the chance to dance.