Entry Eighty-One

I live to tell another tale.

Apparently my life is not as dramatic as a Stephen King novel. I thought I was a gonner yesterday when I was plagued by a headache. But alas, it was cured by taking a small blue pill.

So here I am.

And I bought another ticket to celebrate. I could not procure any more monopoly money no matter how many black market properties I sold to the highest bidder. They were only using LIFE money. The exchange rate is steep and so it cost me a lot more to get another two way ticket into my brain. It will be worth it though because I go to visit the right side of my brain.

And so I shrink again. Through the eyes once more (they are a little bleary this time. I blame it on the tedious training I just went through).

And here I am in the lobby. This time, the live version of Hotel California by The Eagles is playing. I stand and listen for a bit.

"Mirrors on the ceiling, the pink champagne on ice and she said 'we are all just prisoners here of our own device.' And in the master's chambers, they gathered for the feast. They stab it with their steely knives, but they just can't kill the beast."

I remember that I have a limited time, and with the cost of these brain tickets going up I need to take advantage of all the time I have. So, ignoring the chrome door, I focus my sights on the one that is blue and wooden. Wasn't it green the other day? Oh well.

It looks worn. As if it has been used over and over again for years. If this part of my brain we a house I would guess by this door that it was a very old and lived in house. The handle is brass and tainted.

I grasp it and hardly have to turn and the door opens up to me.

Within is a small, dark room with a single TV and a squashy recliner in the middle. The recliner resembles the blue one currently in residence at my home.

I am, I must admit, a little disappointed.

I expected a lot more from my right brain. Maybe the creative side of me is exhausted.

Might as well see what's on the tube, though. Maybe there are some good channels into my mind.

I cross the short distance to the chair and sink comfortably into it. In the arm of the chair, the one that lifts up, contains a remote control. There is only one button.

It says On/Off.

I wish controlling creativity were really that easy.

With no hesitation, I pressed the button that said On/Off.

I am hit by a wave of confusion. And it's not even the TV that does this.

Suddenly the room is full of color and light. There are blurred objects whizzing by on the walls. At first I can't make out anything clearly and so I wrench my eyes from the chaos and direct my gaze to the small TV. Blazing from the screen is a familiar image.

It's a video of children plating London Bridge is falling down and other such games.

It's a birthday party. My birthday party. I can't be more than 5 years old. As I watch this video make it's progression (all the kids are laughing and smiling-it's a good time) the images swirling on the walls begin to slow and take shape.

I am at April Bliss's house. We have a play date and we are watching Sherri Lewis and Lamb Chop.

Next to this image I am on a pony at Two-Mile Prairie.

And over there, there I am being coaxed into a barn I have been told is haunted.

And right there I am sneaking candy from a house that is not mine.

These images scroll on the walls in a semi-jumbled manner. All the while that video of the birthday party plays on the TV.

As my eyes rove these memories, my thoughts flip to a different part of my childhood and soon the video on the TV has changed to one of me racing up and down the streets of Parks Edge Place. There is a rope tied to the handlebars of the bike and I am holding the rope pretending they are the reins on a horse. Along the expansive walls are images and memories all pertaining to that location. Butler getting attacked by that neighbors husky. The friends I had there. Most especially the hodges and playing My Little Pony with Sapphire. Trying to "sell" my drawings to people off the sidewalk. They were horrible.

The onslaught of all these memories are a lot to take in. Each time my thoughts stray to another topic, the TV shows another clip of my life. And then the walls are reeling with all other thoughts tied to that memory.

The images on the walls aren't always videos. Sometimes they are still photos. Sometimes smells are associated with a memory. The room will be suddenly filled with the scent of baking bread or damp forest. Chlorine. Dust and dirt. The ocean.

There is never anything tangible when it comes to these streams of memory. Only sights, sounds, smells...

I watch the TV and the walls for what feels like hours as the room sifts through my lifetime of events. Some make me laugh. Great billows of laughter that fill the room and cause my sides to ache.

Other times that ache becomes the one associated with the deepest sorrow. Those times I find my eyes wet. In these moments there is bitterness, guilt, grief, and longing.

As time passes I begin to feel a crick in my neck. I've been watching TV for too long. I tear my eyes from screen (it's now showing the time that I fell into a marsh in Rhode Island and Corey just stood there and laughed) and try to ignore the walls (they are showing other incidents like falling into the marsh in New Hampshire, tripping up stairs, getting my hand stuck in a tampon machine, etc. ). I give the room one last look to see if that's really all there is to it.

It's then that I see a crack of light near the floor about 12 feet away in the ever changing luminosity of the room.

I walk to the light and see that it's another door. Why didn't I see it before?

Should I go in?

Tune in next time and see.

(hopefully the next entry into my brain will be sooner coming than this one was)

Entry Eighty

I purchased a two way ticket into my brain.

I bought it with monopoly money.

I simply shrink myself and go in via my revolving door eyes.

I find myself in a rather spacious, but somewhat dimly lit lobby. 15 paces in front of me is a circular service desk, needlessly elaborate with gold finishing and silver fish patterns all over the marbled front. There is no one waiting there for me. No call bell, no computer. Just that empty desk with a single old fashioned rotary phone. Ivory and gold.

Calling all firing synapses.

Playing softly from the speakers is the song "Love Song" by Sara Bareilles. Why? Because it's my brain and there is always a song in it, whether I like the song or not.

On either side of this desk is a door. Two doors. Uncomplicated. Mordor, Gandalf, is it left or right?

I go left first. Because who ever really wants to visit the left side of the brain? The right side is more fun. But I'm saving it for last.

The door itself is chrome silver. Perhaps it's made of chrome. There is no door knob. Instead there is a combination panel to the side. There are the usual numbers. And then below that are 4 characters. A banana, a pillow, a music note, and an easy chair.

It's my brain so I know the combinations. The number combo is 0816. The character order is pillow, banana, easy chair, music note. There is a series of metallic clicks coming from the other side of the door because what self respecting chrome door with a combination panel wouldn't have metallic clicks coming from it as it opens? The door swings slowly inward, inviting me to enter. And so I do.

Within is a library. It's a bit smaller than most libraries. One room, about the size of an average size lecture hall. Wall to wall with a maze of bookshelves, crates of books on the floor as well as with free floating books scattered about. I have to pick my way through. There is no apparent labeling system. So I go to a shelf at random. There I see a book entitled "The Dark Crystal". Next to it is "The Labaryinth" and next to that is "The Never Ending Story." Next to that is "Krull". I reach for this last and pull it off the shelf.

A cascade of index cards come tumbeling down and fall to the floor. It is then that I notice that smashed in between every book is a little stack of these index cards. I bend over and pick one up. It has "Micropterus salmoides" written on it in smudged letters. It's hard to make out. On the other side of the card is written "Largemouth bass". I select another card from the floor. This one has the word "Puella" written clearly on one side and "girl" written on the other. There are similar cards now all over the floor with latin words and equations, and facts written on them. All the random little things I've tried to memorize throughout my life.

I pick a new shelf. I look up and down and see more books, only these ones say things like "Into the Blue", "The Man", "Scary Movie 4", and "Twilight". I shudder. Time to move on.

On another shelf there is Lord of the Rings and Star Wars and Harry Potter and Stephen King books out the Wazzoo. As I wander I find more and more movie titles. There are also books on TV shows (Including many multi volume collections for "Lost", "Supernatural", "The X-Files", and a rather dusty 5 volume collection for "Smallville"). There are also what appear to be normal books. Novels that I have read throughout my life. I scan some more and find a small little book entitled "Lord of the Rings card Game" and smile fondly.

Finally, after much more browsing, (I found a book on Leonardo DiCaprio and several volumes on M. Night. Shyamalan) I reach the back of the room. On the wall is a shelf filled with neatly organized series' of books.

There's a book on Plant Systematics, on physiology, on human dimensions in Natural Resources. Ichthyology, Botany, Entomology, Ornithology, Geology, Psychology, Russian literature, British literature. And towards the bottom we had several skinny books on algebra, calculus, and statistics. Statistics is clean but algebra and calculus are crusted in dust. I pull out calculus. Another avalanche of index cards falls out. I spot one that says something about Ronald Regan and a date. I flip through calculus and realize that many pages are missing or blank.

Yup, this is my brain.

I see the book "The Medium is the Massage" and smile as memories of English 1000 flow through me in ribbons. I reach out and pull the book forward and suddenly the well organized shelf of academia slides aside, revealing a small hidden doorway. Barely large enough for me to crawl through.

"Enter" the entrance seems to call. I comply.

I stand into a room lit with a single dangling light bulb complete with chain. In the small and cramped room are two rows of filing cabinets. The first cabinet says "Kindergarten", the second "First Grade", the third "Second grade" and so forth all the way until 9th grade. 10th-12th must still be awarded a placing in the more open reaches of the left side of my brain. In a few more years I imagine they will be shunted back into this little secret room. I open the 7th grade cabinet and find folders on math, science, art, social studies, etc. All those things I learned years and years ago that are barely a memory.

I want to explore this place more and see if there are other secret rooms but I know that I don't have eternity in my brain and I still haven't visited the right side.

I crawl back out of the small room and into the library again. I head to the exit and, without a second glance, leave the room. The slamming of the chrome door leaves a ringing in my ears.

Playing in the lobby is the song "Valencia!" by The Decemberists. Good song. It HAS been rattling around in my brain for the last week. There is still no one at the front desk, just that phone.

And so I go to make my way to the other door but as I do, the phone rings. Even though it's an old rotary phone, the sound that comes from it is a "Time is running out" ringtone by Muse. Should I answer? What will happen if I do? Who is calling my brain?

What the heck, what's the worst that could happen. It's my brain, right?

I pick it up.

"Hello?"

"Sarah. This is reality. The last open doorway out of your brain is closing in two minutes." This voice sounds a lot like the guy who narrates the Harry Potter books. He also narrates the Harry Potter games. That slightly sad sounding British voice.

"Two minutes is cutting it a little close don't you think? I haven't even seen the right side yet."

"I apologize but you were un-reachable in the left-side library. Remember that if you stay you will be stuck here until a professional can come dig get you out."

"Alright, alright. I'm coming."

I look longingly back at the inviting, green-painted, wooden door that is the right side of my brain and heave a sigh of regret. I'll have to get more monopoly money and buy another ticket on another day. My right brain will be waiting.

And so I walk slowly through the revolving door of my eyes, trudging the footsteps of the bitterly disappointed.

Once I am outside myself, I regrow and go on to face the day.

My friends, I have now written 80 posts on this blog. I predicted that the reason it took me so many tries to get through entry 79 is because I was meant to perish after entry 80. Be assured this does not mean I will take my own life to fulfill this prediction. I am simply being cautious. I would love to return here for entry 81 and continue the journey through my brain.

If however you never hear from me again, you know what happened.

I bid you all a very fond farewell.

Goodbye.

Entry Seventy-Nine

Attempt number 5 at entry 79. Apparently I am not meant to get to entry 80. Maybe once that entry is written I am meant to suffer a horrible and gruesome death.

That sounds like something that Stephen King would write.

How fitting because in this 5th attempt I am going to mention this critically acclaimed writer a bit.

I think it's interesting that books written by this author of all things unsettling should be the ones that inspires me the most right now.

No, nope. I will not start this entry over! I am determined! I will get through entry 79 this time.

Stephen King. Fearless. Cheeky. Personal.

He know how to hook you to his characters and make you love them. Even if you don't want to sometimes.

He knows how to reach deep down there and pull up thoughts and emotions you know didn't know exist. His fiction is the most believable collection of unbelievable stories ever written and I love it.

I wish I could be 1/15th the writer he is.

I will read "On Writing".

I am filled with this burning desire to finish. To get it done. To create!

This is all that I have. I had more but I had to leave and come back. That's why it has taken me so long to write this entry. Why it took 5 attempts. But who cares. I am posting this.

And after writing entry 80 I will prepare myself to die a romantic and unexpected death.