Whose ears are these
Are these even my hands
In case you missed it: last week I shared the first issue of a longer monthly Nervous Magazine, about comebacks. Thanks to everyone who read it and commented, I’ve been thinking about your comebacks all the time. I’m working on the March issue now and I can’t wait for you to see it, and in the meantime here’s today’s comic:
For anyone worried - I don’t have a soft spot, it’s only the baby who does. And the baby IS differentiating between himself and us a bit lately. He’s figuring it out faster than I am.
How permeable is the barrier between you and the outside world? Lately it feels like my skin and my vision and my phone screen are all made of wet tissue paper, there’s nothing separating me from everything. I guess this is what grounding exercises are for. But my hair looks great!
Do you feel a little bit of pain when you drop your coffee cup in the sink? Does the whole world feel objectively worse when you’re hungry? Is object permanence (the fact that someone still exists even if they hide under a blanket) still a concept you’re grappling with?
I hope you’re connected to all the things you want to be, and that your week is full of warm and soft and just-the-right-volume things. Thanks for being here.
I've been having a lot of trouble with object permanence as I age. It seems that everything has a place and as long as it's in its place I can find it. But if it's even three or four inches to the left or the right it might as well be invisible. This is particularly difficult with car keys and the garage door opener. Oh and my wallet. Things you don't want to misplace. Nobody told me this would happen. Well there's a lot nobody tells you about aging.
I don't say ow when I drop things, though there are times I catch myself saying ow, then thinking, That did not hurt. Silly me.
I loved your topic today. I will think about object permanence more today, still marveling that others lead multi-layered, complicated lives unbeknownst to me.