When I was a little girl, my favorite sense was touch. I have so many memories associated with touch as a child. Like how the texture of velour or wool would make me recoil. Or how I loved the feel of soft sheets or a cool summer rain. The grass between my toes at home, or the sand when we were at the beach.
These are fond memories that I can recall the minute I go barefoot or slip into a freshly laundered bed.
Now it’s difficult for me to pick a favorite sense. Smell is definitely high up there. I love the assault of spring as wisteria and honeysuckle take over the air. Or the smell of a surprise rain in the summer. I love, LOVE, LOVE the scent of a Zippo lighter. And new crisp money.
I also like the way new money feels. My very first boyfriend once gave me a stocking full of brand new $1 bills because of how much I loved the feel and smell of new money.
You know that means I was meant to be wealthy, right? Or maybe I was wealthy in another life…and an asshole about it. But my soul remembers. It remembers everything.
Anyway, I digress.
Sometimes I contemplate things like the senses. (because clearly, I have NOTHING else to think about…) Usually when I’m reading a book where the author does such a good job of portraying the senses in their writing. Taste, touch, smell, sight, sound… it really is hard for me to choose, because I value all of them for different reasons. Most of those reasons are memories tied to them. So then, is it the sense or the memory that I love?
Jeezus. What’s up with this philosophical shit all of a sudden? It’s exhausting.
Oh…while I’m here spouting off about nothing…let me spout off about something! Meet Paisley. She’s the newest four-legged member of this rag-tag family. I really didn’t want to take in another animal, but she needed a home and now she has one. She’s a very good girl (as she would be) and we are hoping she will make for a good companion for the Manpanion’s dad (from this point on known as, Poppanion). Fingers crossed it works out because she needs lots of love and attention and I think Poppanion may have some to give.
Peace out, bitches. Or should I say, smell ya later?