Noticing
Preface
"I want you to do this with me for one month. One month. Write 10 observations a week and by the end of four weeks, you will have an answer. Because when someone writes about the rustic gutter and the water pouring through it onto the muddy grass, the real pours into the room. And it’s thrilling. We’re all enlivened by it. We don’t have to find more than the rustic gutter and the muddy grass and the pouring cold water" -Marie Howe.
Directly inspired by Michael and mirrors the advice given in this video, specifically in regards to the practice of noticing. View other iterations by Xalli, sneek, Sarah, Chey, and Wren.
Senses Count
- sight.......39
- sound.....19
- taste.......8
- touch......18
- smell......3
- feelings..15
Entries
2025-04-20: 420 on Easter, sick. Or, insignificant to me. Partaking will not improve my day; however, I am eternally grateful I no longer have to go to church. Today is basically just another day, other than watching other people celebrate and be too busy to chat or exist online.
It's raining and I tried to feel indifferent about it as I try to feel indifferent about holidays I don't celebrate, but it made me a little melancholic anyway. I thought about printing myself an Easter themed coloring page just to do something symbolic, but I'll probably sleep most of the day and forget about this feeling when I wake up later.
2025-04-20: Tortilla chips completely dousing the little brown paper bag in its oils.
2025-04-19: Purple weeds peppering a stranger's green-grassy front yard, more beautiful than the grass itself.
2025-04-19: Choosing to be patient at the slow student driver in front of me and finding myself cheering them on when they maneuvered around a cyclist and person. Recognizing they must be only a teenager, instead of getting annoyed. Good luck.
2025-04-19: The birds were slow to move out of the way of the car this time. Usually, they're quick. I was diligent, no worries.
2025-04-19: I quite liked this person's status. It said, "spoon shortage."
2025-04-19: This particular thing Hank Green said stood out to me. "...Last night, lying in bed, I felt super nervous. Like, more nervous than I felt in a while... I [couldn't] find the thing that's making me nervous... It's like the anxiety is just floating around, trying to get me to find a place for it to rest."
He eventually explains we don't need to assign stories to all of our free-floating anxious feelings. Just let them die.
2025-04-18: The cold wind blast as rain pours down. The rain only lasts a moment. What are you purging?
2025-04-18: Add this to the list of times I second-guessed myself when I was actually right on the mark. The other room had a subtle burnt smell, and I dismissed it, wondering if I misinterpreted the smell. Finally, I unplugged the air purifier, and there it was: the outlet was roasted marshmallow brown.
2025-04-17 One would assume the sounds of wind chimes would bring a sense of peace as an extension of nature; however, I found the sounds of these ones abrasive. Heavy wind clattering chimes and I had to take them down.
2025-04-17: Everytime I am driving and come across a struck animal, laying listlessly (and flat) in the street, I make a point not to run over it again. Maybe that is common sense, but I was not explicitly taught it. I figure, its life has already been cut short, and I shall not desecrate its remains further out of respect for nonhuman-life.
2025-04-17: The slap of shuffling cards making itself known to everyone in the coffee shop.
2025-04-17: Listening to the barista with her new habit of saying goodbye to the customers. Each time, it's, "have the best day," and it sounds so genuine.
2025-04-16: "Kitty goes barreling down the stairs!" I think to myself as kitty goes barreling down the stairs.
2025-04-16: The shock of cold laptop against bare thighs, and I know now why I always keep a blanket draped over me, even when warm, lest I subject myself to momentary discomfort.
2025-04-16: undissolved honey expanse at the bottom of iced coffee, drawn up through a pale green straw as a delicious congealed mass.
2025-04-15: Mistaking man for mailbox and mailbox for man.
2025-04-14: Putting on a jacket to warm up, but the fabric is cold.
2025-04-14: Spitting out toothpaste residue over and over. A bad sensation.
2025-04-14: Morningblue light cast into my room, bleeding through the curtains onto the ceiling, and I've yet to fall asleep.
2025-04-12: The coffeemaker's message reading, "Your brew is ready," and me thanking it. "Thank you!" Smells delicious.
2025-04-10: Catching myself stimming by repeating a word with a sticky pronunciation with an intent to practice－
水色－ which means "light/sky blue".
2025-04-10: Watching the 'Devil May Cry' trailor and picking out Robbie Daymond's beautiful voice. Excitement ensues.
2025-04-08: A group of kids lined up on both sides of the street for an 8:05am yellowschoolbus.
2025-04-05: Words I liked while reading suboptimalism's Minecraft Memoir: concurrent/ly, precocious, taxonomy, ephemeral, "ungrateful home," auspicious, gloat, extortionate (prices), expanses, "tinkered tirelessly," boisterous (the sound of somewhat exploitative machines), laconic, conjectured, robust, rule infractions, "fruitful relationship," "take up the mantle," retort, foible(s).
2025-04-04: Feeling sorry for myself again as I put out a bummer blog post, thinking, "I must have a melancholic temperament," as if this moment is forever, and that it defines me.
2025-04-04: The big, "Woah, I'm alive," moment occurs as I force myself to stare at the sunrise, and it's all too much. Being alive, in a body, is too much. It's too overwhelming, and it's joyful, and it's painful, and it's deeply disorienting.
I try not to think as I take in the sunrise. It's supposed to be a moment torn away from dissociation, a grounding one, at that. I try not to think, but I feel I need thought to guide the experience. 'Look at the sprawling branches silhouetted by a bright, blue sky. And look at that patch of coral, and at the crisp ripples of the water.'
How foolish and self-centered am I to think I am the only one distressed by the prospect of death? I know others confront this, but I feel unique in my suffering. At least, I think about the people who seemingly aren't daunted by death and I envy them.
2025-04-02: Catching myself thinking, "I miss bearlythere." Aw. One of the webmasters I associate that feel-good feeling with when we interact.
2025-04-02: Kitty likes to sometimes look out the window between the hours of 5 and 6am. It's still dark out then, but I think she can see better than I can. Sometimes she doesn't react when I poke the curtain to see if she's still there. It's like she's in a focustrance.
2025-04-02: Kitty's tail peeking over the bed like an antenna. Think, bumper cars, self-contained in a box with connecting poles that reach the ceiling. Kitty is happy.
2025-04-01: Tooth sensitivity from... garlic bread?
2025-04-01: The train's whistle wasn't a quick 'toot, toot!' but a long, eery drone that went on for minutes. I was on call with bestie and I was confused. I never saw the train, but it was like it died. At the end, it wheezed a few times, like huffing into an organ, as the sound pulsated.
2025-03-28: More on hair. This time, my head. It's grown long enough it looks less like it's thinning now. I think about growing it real long and immediately recall how much a hassle it is.
2025-03-28: Hand soaps that don't lather up that good??
2025-03-27: 7:18 sunset. Sun as big as a saucer plate started orange. I stared directly into it and it burnt a hole in my vision for a few seconds. As I drove towards the sun, it morphed into a coral color I could stare at. Eventually, it launched behind me and matured into a delicious wine red.
2025-03-27: I thought about an old coworker and semi-friend (he was kind, but always hot and cold). Whenever I think of him, I feel embarrassed and ashamed of who I was. I looked at the image of a past me and thought, "You were such an annoying brat." Brutal.
2025-03-27: Persecution complex. You think they're gonna pick you? You really think you earned everything you have today because you worked hard and suffered? You know, you're allowed to be happy.
2025-03-27: Muscle memory. As in, automatic. Cluster of shortcut actions. Ctrl a, c, s. Highlight, copy, and save the file. Paste it in Neocities or in local files. Webpages in two locations.
2025-03-27: I'm a little bit disappointed when the mocha doesn't taste at least a little bit chalky. Smooth mocha? Blegh. Get outta here.
2025-03-27: Big, black-furred dog sticking its head out the truck window. I hope you're happy, little guy.
2025-03-26: Having a one-sided conversation with myself and catching myself saying, "I'm a feeble-minded person," and then feeling sorry for myself.
2025-03-26: Seven dollar ring from the thrift store with a slightly loose royal purple gem, worn to match gold earrings. I didn't feel pretty; I felt like I was wearing a costume ring.
2025-03-26: More hair on my forearms, creeping up my wrist onto my hand. Hair on the ulnar. An adjustment.
2025-03-26: Hair on my shoulders. More than before.
2025-03-26: The sweetest of puppy chow mingles excellently with the burnt tobacco brewed coffee.
2025-03-26: I can still hear kitty's distressed wail as I tried to wrestle her into her carrier. After a long battle, she wriggled out of my grasp and took refuge under the bed. I peeked down and she looked at me with an unmistakable anger.
I'm inclined to say she won this time because we cancelled her vet appointment, but I take it back in the instant I recognize she was just a scared animal protecting herself. Am I not the same?
2025-03-26: The telltale warnings of an approaching train. I tell myself to plug my ears this time. The train is close enough to shake the house and the whistle is loud. I do not cover my ears. Face my fears. It was not as loud as I imagined. I imagine sparks as I listen to the wheels cry against the tracks.
2025-03-26: Wren describing themself, among a list of things, as a shower singer, implying it was important enough to make note of. With everything listed, I feel a relief of pressure as I see myself in Wren. Self reports, "struggling to come to terms with adulthood." Same here.
2025-03-25: A beaded mat caught my eye in passing, just as I was leaving the coffee shop. It was pink and blue and maybe yellow? I didn't stop to really look. But it had butterflies, configured in such a style that reminded me of my childhood with a distinct but not original brand of girlhood.
2025-03-25: Trying to ignore the bad taste in my mouth as I leave the house; I didn't brush before bed or this morning. It's not the first time.
2025-03-24: Sometimes, kitty smells exactly like this one old strawberry shortcake doll my grandma had. As I was carrying kitty up the stairs much like a baby, I could smell her and she smelled like strawberry shortcake.
2025-03-24: Driving home from choir and craving alcohol. Wine. I think about how I can just stop at the store and get a bottle. Have one or two "relaxing" glasses, when I promised only to make myself hot chocolate after. I think about the uncomfortable heat in my stomach and my cheeks and the sweating that requires a shower, and I tell myself no.
I go home and I make myself hot chocolate. I put it in a tall, glass mug and wish I had whipped cream, like the diners have. I tell myself it'll have to do.
2025-03-24: I was reading through badgraph1csghost's diary and was struck by this beautiful, poignant line which pertained to being patient while transitioning. I wholeheartedly believe it's true for Tina, but I can't convince myself it's true for me, ever haunted by a pervasive feeling that I'm predestined to die a tragically young death.
Noticing the goodwill of my neighbors to look at and respond to what I post, and feeling grateful. Thank you, Tina. It was worth putting this reply on here as I remember the importance of noticing the ways in which we can revise old, sticky narratives. This comes with choosing to acknowledge that this experience is not unique to me. "Sometimes it feels like we're all doomed," and that can be a comfort.
Here is likely the last update regarding this interaction. Consider me delighted.
2025-03-24: Being trans is having the unique experience of having a voice that sometimes reminded me of my mother and, at another, more permanent time, possessing a voice that sometimes reminds me of my father, and at respective times when my relationship between each was wrought with certain strife. (See also: estranged).
I feel guilt and self-loathing hearing him in my voice, corrupting a normally sweet moment. I don't want to be evil, but I hear him in my voice, and even he doesn't sound evil. He just sounds like a man.
2025-03-24: While scrolling through sneek's page, I realized when holding down shift that my Japanese dictionary extension is capable of detecting alt text.
2025-03-24: Kitty pressing her warm paw to my cheek and holding it there as she rests across my arm. Proof I'm alive. Proof she's alive. Proof of connection.
2025-03-24: I feel the familiar ache in my arms and shoulders, but resting across my right arm is kitty, and it is a treasure every time she chooses to lay on me, a sign of trust and love in her most vulnerable state, and, for that, I must not disturb her.
2025-03-14: in the early morning hours where it was still dark outside but the moon shines bright, I found kitty sleeping soundly on the top step. Bathed in a dim blue light, I petted her as she purred. I placed my ear against her body to hear the low rumble and she smelled of fresh honeydew.
2025-03-14: the power is out and the wind is howling a hollow tune, just as it did in that one freaky episode of Spongebob.
2025-03-13: I paid full attention to the anime I was watching (ダンダダン) and teared up three times. I never cry.
2025-03-13: the terrible boredom I feel away from social media. I have so much time. too much time.
2025-03-13: through the outdoor screen, the barge simply looked like a white worm, long, but only 1.5 pixels tall, slow moving, but moving nonetheless.
2025-03-07: Always exiting the front door walking backwards, eyes searching for kitty and ensuring she doesn't escape, not that she has any interest in it.
2025-03-07: A school bus at 11:21am.
2025-02-27: Erik Satie ad- warm, buttery sound. Precursor to this microblog post.
2025-02-27: I know when kitty is entering or leaving my room by the sound of chimes hanging from my doorknob. The door is cracked open just enough for her to fit. The chimes sometimes remind me of the time I made them, when I was profoundly lonely. I hadn't met kitty; she hadn't been born yet. Precursor to this muse entry.
2025-02-27: I accidentally stepped on a wooden pencil, fracturing it and overwhelming myself with a sense of having violated some superstition. What ill fate would befall me now?