>This post is either going to come out as brilliance or total insanity; it could truly go either way. You’ve been warned.
I don’t think in words. And no, I don’t think in pictures. I think in… physical sensations, feelings, visions, shapes. So, when I hear words or read words, I have to translate into my own language, formulate my response in my language, then translate back into yours, then type/speak. You can imagine why I process a bit more slowly than other people. If I don’t have time to process the words and translate them, I frequently respond inappropriately (think, “How are you?” “Thank you.” or “Happy birthday!” “You too.”).
Now, another thing. I don’t actually write these posts. They’re already written in my own language… they write themselves. I just translate and put the words down. If they’re not written and I have to write them, first of all, they’re painstakingly slow, and second of all, they’re choppy. They feel different. I can totally understand the concept of those who wrote the Bible writing God’s words down… the words were already written, and they just put them down. I’m so not saying that God writes my posts! No no no! But, I can understand how it worked.
So, back to this whole language thing. Leigh was curious about how I actually think of different people and things. So, I give you, some of my favorite people and things, in my language. Please keep in mind that trying to put entirely ineffable things into words leaves you with an incomplete, possibly not-entirely-accurate depiction of the thing in question. That frustrates me and makes me hesitant to do this, but I shall try.
Once upon a time, when I first met Leigh and for the next year or more, she was a distant orb, grayish purple, and fuzzy on the outside but solid (think the texture of dryer lint). It floated just above the ground, kind of hovering. It was hard to see, and you couldn’t put a finger on it.
As time went on, Leigh became a solid, smooth wall, right up against my heart. I can’t see it (it’s like trying to see your own nose).
Now, Leigh dated a guy named Lee in college, and the way I could tell who we were talking about was not by name or spelling but by how they felt. Lee was a series of staccato-looking… think ski jumps, in the upper right hand corner, floating in the air. They were hard and shiny and small.
Chloe calls up the sound of walking on snow. She is decidedly pink (not sure if she even likes pink!). There is a floating shirt (short sleeved, if you wonder, and I don’t know the color) floating around, too. Chloe? Shirts? Can’t make this stuff up.
Sister, though by no means the least bit boring, simply calls up her second-grade school picture, and that is all.
Mom calls up a shadow that melds into me. This one makes sense, for once, because I consider Mom to be almost a part of me, and me a part of her (come on, she carried me for 9 months, and genetically I AM half Mom). It’s slow and gentle and comforting.
Elsie P (because I know Amanda would ask) is two disembodied little paws poking at me. White paws, of course. This is different from “cat” which calls up disembodied ears.
Now, don’t everyone go asking me what you are and what this is and what that is, because it’s exhausting and taxing to put this goofy stuff into words. I fear that I didn’t do it right, but I tried, and it should be at least a peek into my odd little brain.