Dreamers have their heads up in the clouds, right?
But we all have to come back to earth sometimes.
Some dreamers simply sigh and float back down to suffer the drudgery of everyday existence, eyes lifted to the heavens, waiting for their next moment of escape.
For others, it takes a good deal of tugging and screaming, as if their necks are clamped in the bivalves of a cirrus cloud, and even then, a clean break can’t be guaranteed. Those dreamers might still have disturbing wisps of pearly candy floss twirling round the rim of their skulls like cartoon, chirrupy birds as they clomp about on land.
As you can probably tell by now, I fall squarely into the second category. Sometimes, it feels like, instead of a wrinkled-walnut brain, the cavern of my skull is stuffed full of cloud puffs, my own tiny, portable heaven between my ears.
And it makes me impractical. Impractical? Please. The word doesn’t even cover it. I bumble through life. If life were a path (astoundingly original, I know), everyone else would be strolling along, breathing the salubrious air, while I tripped and stumbled over rocks, howled and pulled in frustration at my hair and brambles snagged and tore at my clothes, looking like a half-crazed, disheveled maniac who had inadvertently escaped a tussle with a mountain bear the entire way. That’s the kind of impractical I am.
I mean, I’ll just give you an idea of how much of a floundering fool I am when it comes to interacting and surviving in the plane of reality. You’ll all scoff at your computer screens.
1. I lose everything. Everything. EVERYTHING. Every material possession that I have ever owned, I have lost. I thought I was exaggerating when I typed that line, but, you know what, that’s not even an exaggeration. I lose books, I lose the ubiquitously lost keys, I lose my phone, I lose papers, I lose clothes. In fact, it’s not just material possessions. I even lost my sister once when I was younger at a shopping mall. I left her behind in the store.
2. I can’t navigate places to save my life. I am terrible at driving because, unless the route is short, simple and I’ve gone over it several times, I won’t know where I am. I hate using a GPS – the electronic voice is annoyingly calm and placid while my car trundles off into the middle of nowhere. I can’t read directions. Maps, keys and compass directions don’t make any sense to me. They’re just squiggly messes of confusion; even if I place it on the ground facing the right direction and imagine myself walking down the streets, it isn’t less incomprehensible. I even get lost along streets I am familiar with, because I get entangled in my thoughts and before I know it, I’m walking down unfamiliar territory and engulfed with panic at the strangeness of my surroundings.
3. I have a phobia of engagements. When I’m given doctor appointments, or times and dates at which I need to be at places, I encode the date and time into my phone, I stick it on my fridge, I write it on my hand, I write down in a notebook, I beg and claw at the shirts of my family members and friends to remind me. I do everything except shave off my hair and sear the very time and date into the back of my head using a hot poker. Otherwise, I will forget. I will forget. Seriously. I will.
4. I am always late. All throughout my schooling life, I have shuffled into classes out of breath while everyone was seated. Even if I woke up at the right time, I dawdled my way to the great institution of learning, lost in my own learning, daydreaming and philosophizing.
5. Don’t tell me to build anything. I am the antithesis of a handyman. I can’t build an IKEA chair to save my life. I can’t fix that light bulb, the tenuous glass globe will just crack to pieces in my hand (that actually happened). Hell, I could barely find the plastic niche in my clock to change the batteries yesterday.
6. I don’t pack well. Camps. Sleepovers. I pack half a library in my bag but forget my toothbrush.
7. Order and I don’t mix. Everything I touch turns into what looks like the wake of a tornado. I don’t plan, I ‘improvise’. I’ve never had a set timetable. I shudder at the thought of organizing the logistics of holidays and moving houses. If the backdrop of one’s existence were an abstract painting, practical people would have nice, colorful circles twirling around them while I would have a blurred, synesthesia-like mess of swirls and squiggles and curly shapes that would occasionally prod me and then rebound, giggling to themselves. Yes, they would giggle. That’s how weird it would be.
8. I would be the worst person to help anyone in a crisis. Level-headedness is not in my genes. I won’t scream, but I’ll breathe rapidly with maniacal, unblinking eyes and if you ask me to throw you a rubber ring while you’re drowning or put out a fire, I’ll end up dumping sugar packets over the flames or scattering fish from a nearby crate in the sea in the hopes that my silvery friends will band together and save you from a watery death, never mind the fact that they themselves are dead.
9. I make people think I’m retarded. I’m not dumb. At least, I don’t think I am. But sometimes, I appear intellectually incapacitated. I had a logical, play-by-the-rules friend who never looked at me the same after I built a model for an assignment back in highschool out of edible materials, with honey and everything, then wondered the next day why it was collapsing in the heat and half of it was chewed away by ants and other inquisitive insect-folk.
10. Just overall strange ways of thinking. If a painting shows a woman kissing a rose and it’s even slightly abstract, with a faint warping of lines and shapes, I will first see a meadow with a bunny hopping in it, then a girl with a dress made of thunderstorms and then, after much squinting, see the actual picture. In fact, I make pictures out of everything, not just the usual clouds. I make them out of stains, molds, chewing gum blobs (I once saw a wad of pink chewing gum that looked like a portly man’s face, all jiggling cheeks and laughing mouth. Suffice to say, mentioning this to my friend did not increase my sanity level in her eyes).
11. What are these paper notes with numbers scrawled on them? Banks will always be a mystery. My family had to force me to open an account and deposit special papers which then turned into electronic numbers. Great. Numbers on a screen. That’s what I traded hours of my life for. Don’t talk to me about superannuation, mortgages, assets, loans and shares. Now that’s witchcraft, though the non-exciting kind.
I know, I know, I ask myself the same question everyday. I honestly don’t know how I’ve been able to survive so far. I’m too impractical to exist in this realistic world. I should just deport my mind and soul into a virtual reality the moment it is possible.
I should be reborn as a fairy in my next life.
What about you? Are any of you lovely fellow human beings as impractical as I am? Or have I made your mind broil in disbelief at my utter incompetency?
PS: Decided to start posting more frequently. So, like, there will always be at least two new posts every week, possibly more. Not that this is a renowned blog, that I have to make a grand announcement like this, but, yeah. Okay. Bye.