Have you ever not felt comfort for an extended period of time? In our self centered world we are all about ourselves and our comfort. I remember when I was in Honduras for twelve days and as I finally sat down on the airplane with the air conditioner, no dust or noise, there was something unfamiliar surrounding me. COMFORT! There were no sharp edges or rocks, there was no sand in my shoes or underwear. Sweat was not in my eyes and dripping off of my body. There were no bugs in my ears, gnats in my socks or spiders trying to use my nostrils as a den. I was not consumed by odors that I could not identify, odors that only days ago were foul and categorized as awful but now have textures and nuances. I do not think I want my odors to have nuances.
I remember spraying bug spray and mosquito spray in a circle around my sleeping bag and making sure it had a zipper that worked so I could completely zip myself up inside the thing, like a mummy's pouch. Sure I had trouble breathing and it was one hundred degrees Fahrenheit, that is thirty seven and one half degrees Celsius because I was in Honduras, but I was safe from all kinds of evil that wanted my crevasses. The floor of the burned out church was flat and moist with the occasional crack running the length of the cloister. From inside my sleeping bag the only sound I could here were the bats dive bombing for the insects trying to thwart my defenses. I could live with the bats, after all, they are mammals and you can reason with mammals sometimes. I tried sleeping on my side but my arm would fall asleep and I would wake with a throbbing pain that had no origin but I felt it in my fingertips. I slept on my back which means I snored very loudly. I am sure the bats were upset. Insects do not mind noise. I knew a fly that used to sit with me while I jack hammered the living room. He would stay on my shoulder and only once in a while flit of only to return.
Comfort, yes. Well, the last few days I have been in a rotten mood. While complaining to myself because at times like these, people just do not want to listen. Friends are vacant, enemies are surprised you would talk to them until they realize you are not talking with them but at them and they wander off remembering why you are not a friend. I could not figure why I was in a bad mood. I had everything I needed, a job, food, I could go for months without it, a car that runs, children that do not hat me.
It was comfort. I was lacking comfort. A comforting nod, an unexpectedly soft foot stool. Socks that do not snag on your toe or heel but rather encapsulate your foot in soft cotton. I was missing a meal that you wanted to hold in your mouth and savor for as long as possible. I want to enjoying a perfectly made glass of iced tea while sitting under an oak tree welcoming a cool breeze. It has been a long time since experiencing a pleasant sound in my ear, a note that swarmed around the inside of my head like the final note on the "Let it Be" album. I am subjected to the rattle of the road, pot holes and poorly constructed manhole covers that jar your teeth loose and are only on the other side of the tracks. My tennis shoes make more noise than the electric door at the supermarket. I squeak like someone walking with a rubber duck in his shoe. I need to move like I have wings on my feet and clouds under my heels. I need to savor for hours a seventy eight percent cacao bar that bathes my mouth in creamy ecstasy. I need a shower head with a three foot diameter and two thousand holes delivering water that surrounds me like a hot waterfall. I need a bed with fresh linens that are so soft you do not even know they are touching you. I need the comfort of my mothers food, Halupki that will make you cry with joy.
That is what I need.
I remember spraying bug spray and mosquito spray in a circle around my sleeping bag and making sure it had a zipper that worked so I could completely zip myself up inside the thing, like a mummy's pouch. Sure I had trouble breathing and it was one hundred degrees Fahrenheit, that is thirty seven and one half degrees Celsius because I was in Honduras, but I was safe from all kinds of evil that wanted my crevasses. The floor of the burned out church was flat and moist with the occasional crack running the length of the cloister. From inside my sleeping bag the only sound I could here were the bats dive bombing for the insects trying to thwart my defenses. I could live with the bats, after all, they are mammals and you can reason with mammals sometimes. I tried sleeping on my side but my arm would fall asleep and I would wake with a throbbing pain that had no origin but I felt it in my fingertips. I slept on my back which means I snored very loudly. I am sure the bats were upset. Insects do not mind noise. I knew a fly that used to sit with me while I jack hammered the living room. He would stay on my shoulder and only once in a while flit of only to return.
Comfort, yes. Well, the last few days I have been in a rotten mood. While complaining to myself because at times like these, people just do not want to listen. Friends are vacant, enemies are surprised you would talk to them until they realize you are not talking with them but at them and they wander off remembering why you are not a friend. I could not figure why I was in a bad mood. I had everything I needed, a job, food, I could go for months without it, a car that runs, children that do not hat me.
It was comfort. I was lacking comfort. A comforting nod, an unexpectedly soft foot stool. Socks that do not snag on your toe or heel but rather encapsulate your foot in soft cotton. I was missing a meal that you wanted to hold in your mouth and savor for as long as possible. I want to enjoying a perfectly made glass of iced tea while sitting under an oak tree welcoming a cool breeze. It has been a long time since experiencing a pleasant sound in my ear, a note that swarmed around the inside of my head like the final note on the "Let it Be" album. I am subjected to the rattle of the road, pot holes and poorly constructed manhole covers that jar your teeth loose and are only on the other side of the tracks. My tennis shoes make more noise than the electric door at the supermarket. I squeak like someone walking with a rubber duck in his shoe. I need to move like I have wings on my feet and clouds under my heels. I need to savor for hours a seventy eight percent cacao bar that bathes my mouth in creamy ecstasy. I need a shower head with a three foot diameter and two thousand holes delivering water that surrounds me like a hot waterfall. I need a bed with fresh linens that are so soft you do not even know they are touching you. I need the comfort of my mothers food, Halupki that will make you cry with joy.
That is what I need.
