Pacing SpaceIt used to be that the living room was un-navigable for walking in straight lines. One had to wend, watching feet and path to move past the coffee table and the shelf, turning twice to scoot into the kitchen. There have been rearrangements, now, and I can put eight steps in a row without thought or turn. This is not much, but it is welcome.
This discovery came at the edges of sleep one morning, and I wondered from the bedroom to the kettle, and was struck awake by the new path in the room. I took a few turns on it. I felt the need to pick up the phone and call someone, anyone, to walk back and forth, talking. I have found that I can extend the line to twelve steps worth if I continue on through the doorway to the bedroom and make use of the floor in there as well, but I find that I do not do this. Movement from room to room and from light into dim dismantles the act in some way.
Recently, Mr. Containment and I were given to walking strong strides across a parking lot, empty, lap upon glorious thin lap of unimpeded footfall. He was busy with a conspiracy; I was busy with other things. We walked the lot, even as the sky came cut with lightning, and made stern promises of rain.
I am glad it does not rain in my living room.
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