09.30.2002 - 10:33 a.m.

There is a rogue hair in the boss's left eyebrow. It is about three times as long as any of the other eyebrow-hairs. It happens to be a dark hair, although some of the others are grey.

I have a sudden mental picture of him in fifteen years, gone entirely grey and sporting gandalf-brows. I wonder how they will really go with short, spiky hair, a Texas accent, and the way he holds the air while he talks, as if he were screwing on a gas cap, slowly, because he is in the middle of thinking about something else.

And this morning when I woke up, I noticed that I was still holding the memory of a long game of frisbee-golf in the tops of my thighs, my sides, and my wrist. It can be the most comforting thing, the body's memory. I like knowing it is not just my mind that will have to store it all.

I am aware that I am being pretty random. I had both of these thoughts over the weekend, and was thinking of writing about either one, but then I wondered, if I stuck them together, what would they result in? Sometimes you need to write things out to see connections, and I was curious.

I could wonder what memory is stored in the extra two-thirds of that eyebrow hair, but while that's an entertaining thought, I dunno. I think instead, I want to come to some conclusion about bodies and minds, about the ways they carry history with them. There is more than the scar on my knee from scuffing it on the inside of jeans trying to run downhill at night and getting the wound infected by going sailing the next day, and the way my boyfriend at the time blew on it to take away the sting and then put on a bandaid which I swear just made it fester. There is deeper than the differing angles of my elbows from breaking the right one when I was a kid, and how the day after it was healed I wore the sling on the wrong hand and none of my friends noticed. There is why I think people are smarter just because they can tell a good story, and there is whatever I admire about people who do stupid things that always work out. Or not.

I spent Sunday as a day of rest. I slept until almost two, I called the parents, I read most of a book. But I find that I need another weekend day, to recover from the day of rest. My body has no idea what time it is, and my mind thinks it probably should.

As a further random observation, there is a cricket crossing my office floor. A really, really big cricket. He thinks he's safe, hiding under the lip of my shoe (which I'm not wearing at the moment) but I don't think he realizes that his back end is sticking out.

Such is my state of mind on a Monday.

-stonebridge

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