Simple

I don't do simple well. I do tangents, one little thing leads to another and to another and to another, and everyone one of them feels important to know, a potentially useful bit of information that might even be critical. Even a simple breath can trigger my mind into thinking of the complexity of the mechanics of breathing, of alveoli, tars and nicotines, of invisible gases and strange powders, of teenage auto-erotic asphyxiation games and post-stroke minutes of brain oxygen deprivation, of CPAPS and antihistamines. Exhale on the power stroke. Inhale as you release. What should be an automatic process becomes a mind whirling spin that leaves me wanting to shout, STOP, STOP, STOP! We have to know so much.

I wish I did simple well, but it's too hard. Not even a turkey sandwich is simple anymore. White, wheat, multi-grain, rye, sourdough, pita, tortilla? Honey baked, grilled, fried, creole seasoned? Free range, hormone free? Mayo? Mustard? Ranch? Chipotle? Wasabi? Oh, I don't even want to get started on the cheeses or veggies. So many choices.

I start with simple in mind. I want to eschew excess and stick to the essentials of life. I want biscuits and honey but end up with a breakfast casserole. I'll hang one picture on the wall to let the negative space enhance its beauty but eventually make a grouping of painting, flowers, candles and decorative plate. I don't know when to leave well enough alone. I get overwhelmed by so many things.

I want to shake myself like a furry dog fresh from a bath and let the clutter fly off of me. I want to close my eyes and see black. I want to inhale and feel nothing more than my stomach rise. Simple is something that I want to relearn.

This entry prompted by Sunday Scribblings.

Sunday Scribblings, simplicity