It's Not Easy, Being Green

I think that I've decided that green isn't. There really isn't any color there, but our eyes think that no color at all is boring and would make them feel useless. So they interpret the lack of color for us.

The consequences if they didn't would be horrible, though, you have to admit. No more green means I'd try to walk through the huge wall instead of using the door to get to the next room, and end up hurting myself pretty badly.

I wouldn't ever know if my plants were doing well, or if someone had snuck in and stole them in the middle of the night. I'd end up watering them, hoping that it was doing some good, until the day I decided they must not be there any longer, as there's no chance I could manage to keep a plant alive for so long. But once I stopped watering, of course the plant would die, proving that it had been there in the first place by changing to brown.

I'd also no longer be able to wear my green shirts, of which I have a few, or my green flannel, which is the only flannel I have anymore, since my blue one decided that adding a few holes would be an interesting experiment in the conservation of matter. I'd have to wear some other color of shirt for obvious reasons. I'd have to find a new flannel, as this one would have gone missing ages ago.

And, of course, my eyes would probably be right. If they're not willing to show me what's there, what good are they? They'd be pretty boring, and I'd start using them less, instead developing my sense of hearing and practice echo-location.

I don't want to have to sleep upside down. I'm glad I can still see the color green.

Hungry, Hungry Sock Puppets

I missed a whole month. I'm not sure how that happened. Sure I've come close before, but still, a whole month? Three birthdays, an airplane ride, lots of running around in my car and various other activities. Not enough sleep, too much work, and generally remembering to brush my teeth. But add all that up, and it can't come anywhere near the time that's passed since last I tested the waters. Add all that time up, and it can't be more than a day or two.

I missed a whole month, and I'm not sure where the time has gone. It's flying by, it's speeding through, it's gone way before it was ever here. I try to catch it and realize I'm grasping at the shadow it's leaving as it flits its merry way along past a streetlight three towns away.

But it's a streetlight in a town three towns behind me. For time's only flying by when I look backward... when I turn my gaze the other way, things seem to get stuck in a bog of molasses mixed with some quick-drying cement. The next month seems to stretch out as if it were a decade, and time, instead of flying by, is a turtle carrying the weight of the world on its shell. A turtle that was frightened by the time flying behind me, and is now hiding inside of the shell that's covered in the weight of the world. A turtle that, frankly, isn't moving very fast.

Yes, time would be crawling, if it decided to speed up some. It'd speed up and pass. But that doesn't help me answer the question of what happened to the month that I missed. I've even looked between the cushions of my couch, and it's not there.

I'm starting to fear it's been eaten by a sock.