Where Am I…?

Where am I…? Is a question which I have often asked myself first thing upon waking… partly because I have moved around quite a bit in life and it takes time to adjust, and partly because I have traveled far and wide in my dreams and it can be confusing when on the threshold between awake and asleep where lines are blurred.

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“He felt that his whole life was some kind of dream and he sometimes wondered whose it was and whether they were enjoying it.”
― Douglas Adams

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Last night I was in a strange land of passionate theatre, having an argument with an usher about my beliefs clashing with his, prompting him to not show me to my seat even though it was his job, I’d been invited to attend, been given tickets by the lead actor (for some complicated reason to do with the wig I was wearing that was actually my hair until it wasn’t).

It doesn’t help matters of locating location if in your dreams you’re living somewhere where you’ve lived in your waking state, and then wake up to find you’re not there but elsewhere, and you’re not sure which one of the many elsewheres you have been in that you are presently in.

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“There is a theory which states that if ever anyone discovers exactly what the Universe is for and why it is here, it will instantly disappear and be replaced by something even more bizarre and inexplicable.
There is another theory which states that this has already happened.”
― Douglas Adams

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Before I wander any further into… I don’t know where, as I write my posts off the cuff (mostly)…

Thank you very much to Sbw, for being curious, courageous and courteous, for reading my crazy ramblings (perhaps more than is recommended by those who make those sort of things up), and for joining in the fun, taking on the challenge, asking this question:

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“Yes I’ve often wondered what country you live in. When you describe your surroundings some time, sheep in the road last year or someone coming to cut the hedge, I know it’s a small rural town. I always wonder, is she in the English country side but she could be in Texas for all I know

When I hear the tone in your writings, you sound like a Brit to me but you spell like you are in the states. Of course I know places you’ve told us you’ve lived as well as marveled at your Italian. I read someone every day I sometimes hear my version of their voice and I am always surprised to find out how totally far off I am

So I know divulging location is a total violation and not conducive to safety but I’ll settle for a vague clue, a continent perhaps. Or what regional dialect you speak with bc that has nothing to do w current location.

And of course, if you skip this question, I’ll be reading tomorrow just like I do most days”

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At this very moment I am sitting crossed-legged on a wicker chair (which is creating strange shapes in my skin), hunched at a funny angle while my fingers type these words into my laptop (which isn’t on my lap). I am located in a tiny room with crooked walls which I sometimes call my office, but which also is known as the guest room… if any of those beings known as guests happen to find where I actually live without getting hopelessly lost and giving up.

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“For a moment, nothing happened. Then, after a second or so, nothing continued to happen.”
― Douglas Adams

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Usually the only people capable of finding my home are those who are lost and trying to get somewhere else.

There are windows in this room which look out onto the scene in the photo above with the sheep… however usually there aren’t sheep in the garden, those were just rebel runaways from last year. Those sheep were supposed to be in this field:

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That’s me, pretending I’m in Texas. I like to pretend I’m in other places, and sometimes that I’m other people – in this case I’m Clint Eastwoodette. But I’m in a field in the rural English countryside, not far from my home (for now), and I’m just me being typically me… weird and whatnot.

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“and then I decided I was a lemon for a couple of weeks.”
― Douglas Adams

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I appreciate your sensitivity about my not divulging my exact location due to health and safety… I’m not always sure whose health and safety.

There are a lot of nutters in this world, which the news likes to tell us about in BOLD and SCARY headlines. You might be one of them… a generalised you, not you, Sbw… but maybe you too (note to self: how many of these notes to self do I have to write before you read them and realise that your humour is questionnable, and may offend… or summat like dat). I am fairly certain of being one of them… but I’m also fairly certain of being a harmless one (only in comparison to some of the others, mind you).

For health and safety reasons I don’t divulge my exact location because:

• a) I’m a hermit (see previous post)
• b) I’m a child of narcissists (see previous post)
• c) I’m a nutter (see this post)
• d) all of the above and one below…
• e) I’m boring in person (anything remotely interesting tends to only go on in my head – which is the voice you hear in my posts)

Which brings me to…

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“This must be Thursday,’ said Arthur to himself, sinking low over his beer. ‘I never could get the hang of Thursdays.’”
― Douglas Adams

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My voice.

What do I sound like?

I sound funny to myself, especially if I’ve been silent for a while and then suddenly speak. That shit be weird!

At home I mostly speak in Cat…

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… as I have to translate my cat’s thoughts and words, and it’s a chatty cat. It’s kind of fun talking in Cat, and I do it more often than I perhaps should (like with most fun things), and sometimes get stuck in that mode.

But that’s okay in the ukay, eccentricity is the norm (which is why I like living here, as I can go unnoticed), and the area where I live is inhabited by many rather quirky and lovely people, who let others be because they do unto others as they would have others do unto them.

Everyone is a bit barmy, especially on days when it is balmy.

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I’m not from around here (unless here is planet Earth… then maybe), but I’ve never felt more at home.

I was born in one place but didn’t live there, lived somewhere else some of the time, the other some of the time I lived elsewhere, with lots of shuttling to other places in between living here and there. Got confused and stayed that way (might have been born that way…). Kept going from place to place, sometimes back and forth between places I knew and sometimes to places new. I haven’t been to as many places as I think I have, or would like to have been, but I have been to many places, and there are many places still to go.

I can blend in sometimes, pretend I’m invisible, as long as the crowd’s attention is focused on maters of the heart…

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… and not on mental things, like the fact that I often wear outfits which make me appear as though I fell through a pile of clothes and was dressed by static cling. Or that my skin is a strange shade of too many freckles, salt, pepper, a sprinkling of pimento and a dash of olive oil. My hair is on fire. My eyes are starey (blink, dammit, remember to blink). And I never look like I fit in.

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“A learning experience is one of those things that says, ‘You know that thing you just did? Don’t do that.”
― Douglas Adams

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But sometimes I think I do, thanks to the kindness of strangers, and their ability to pretend that I’m not something obsolete that has yet to realise it and sticks out like a sore thumb because I should be dead by now.

I do sometimes awaken to the surprise that I’m still alive. On some days the surprise is pleasant, on others… things are a bit ambiguous. Such is life…

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“Reality is frequently inaccurate.”
― Douglas Adams

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So, I feel like a normal humans amongst other normal humans (who are probably pretending to be normal as I am)…

Until…

I open my mouth and sounds come out. That shit be weird!

I speak in many voices as I love playing with sound, mimicking voices I hear, they’re like melodies, and I enjoy experimenting… each voice expresses something else, a mood, a concept… and I’m really not sure which one is actually mine. They all are in a way… I would say that my real voice is the one inside my head, and the one which comes out in my writing.

While perusing an Italian blog, I came across a post which sounded familiar… it was one of mine translated. I was rather chuffed that they’d done that… and that I’d recognised myself. It’s cool to do that, to recognise yourself (even if it sounds… a bit up oneself, that sounds good sometimes).

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“… you’re turning into a penguin. Stop it.”
― Douglas Adams

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My Italian isn’t that good (I just sort of absorbed it as a child), but it sometimes fools Italians into thinking I’m Italian. I try to talk ‘proper’ Italian with others, rather than what I actually learned which was slang Roman… my version of it… which is pretty much what my voice and everything else about me is… my version of it, whatever ‘it’ is.

The most regular thing I’ve been told about the sound of my voice is that people find it soothing, soporifically so… apparently it’s easy to fall asleep to. I’m never sure how to take that, especially if they fall asleep while I’m talking (particularly if I’m making an effort to talk rather than do what comes naturally which is the opposite), but people look so lovely when they’re sleeping, so… it’s kind of nice to be able to relax someone enough for them to fall into a coma around you.

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“Ah…! What’s happening? it thought.

Er, excuse me, who am I?

Hello?

Why am I here? What’s my purpose in life?

What do I mean by who am I?

Calm down, get a grip now … oh! this is an interesting sensation, what is it? It’s a sort of … yawning, tingling sensation in my … my … well I suppose I’d better start finding names for things if I want to make any headway in what for the sake of what I shall call an argument I shall call the world…”

― Douglas Adams

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Much depends upon where others are from as to where they think I’m from based on my accent. It’s not regional to any region, it’s not a dialect spoken anywhere but here…

The here inside… as to the here outside, I have yet to find any others from that outer here… maybe it is over there.

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That’s the Capricorn Full Moon, over a field which can be seen from my home, this morning… looks like the Sun, doesn’t it…?

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“Just believe everything I tell you, and it will all be very, very simple.’

Ah, well, I’m not sure I believe that.”
― Douglas Adams

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Now that we’ve figured out where I am…

What about you…

Where are you?