The thought occurred to me this morning at my orthodontist's office, half awake and lying down in the operating chair. I had only gotten four hours of sleep the previous night and already getting restless from waiting. Needing to keep myself occupied (and awake), I perused the top half of his room, taking note of the obscenely large novelty toothbrushes, the glass mirror whose frame depicts a girl's mouth wide open, the Finding Nemo-themed trim, and the huge spotlight contraption that hinted of the oculi from the Pantheon in Rome. It was about that time I stared at the ceiling, the off-white, latex painted ceiling that I realized how much I love them.
Not fish--ceilings, I mean.
Yes, I love ceilings, or rather the feeling I get when I wake up in a place completely different from the one in which I fell asleep. It's the kind of surprise you feel waking up on the bus(possibly one or two stops late) and you frantically survey your surroundings like a gopher. Or the two second shock that strikes you when you can't find your alarm clock because you've forgotten that you're staying at a hotel. It's feeling like you've teleported to a new, mystical land--like Narnia or 69 Woodstock--having done nothing at all but close your eyes. I find it strange that I love this sensation because humans aren't supposed to feel that way about novel environments. By survivalist nature, we're meant to be scared, aware, and even maybe constipated by immersion into new territories.
But that's not me.
...at least, not me in the morning.
I've always felt this way. As a child, I slept more than a narcoleptic cat and found myself dozing through every movie, car ride, and class my midget body was exposed to. I remember having to run through Aladdin three times in a row because I kept falling asleep at the Cave of Wonders raid scene. (Abu takes huge gem. / Aladdin: Abu! NO! / Sand Tiger: INFIDELS! / Me: ZZZ...) And I remember very clearly sleeping in the back of my parents 87 Oldsmobile station-wagon, curled up into a ball with a book at my side. And back when I lived in a huge townhouse, I would sleep in four different rooms, rooms that ranged from my brother and sister's sky-blue duplex to my ruddy basement with the green carpet, squeaky futon, and aptly placed Sega Genesis. I know stationary base-jumping doesn't sound too riveting but waking up had its thrill.
In a way, I conditioned myself to awake in strange, new places so much that it has become more than a matter of preference but a need. Maybe that's why I find so much unease waking up to the same ceiling for any more than three consecutive nights--it's boring. Static. Stagnant.
(Unless, of course, I'm with a special someone, then that mundaneness is nullified.)
But don't get me wrong, there are some old ceilings I love, ceilings which never cease to control my ADD.
1 comment:
i used to have an attic kind of room..
and you know some attics have that inclined ceiling, well my bed used to be pushed up to the wall where i traditionally like my bed, that's also where the ceiling was at it's lowest.
so as you can see where this is going, i woke up one morning awhile back only to smash my head on the ceiling...
i'll never forget that day...
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