I can hear some kind of critter upstairs, in the attic area of my house. I think it might be a squirrel, since a lot of those are around here lately, and from the noise going on, it sounds bigger than mice. (Actually if it IS a mouse, I may have to break my lease and evacuate, because that thing wears really big shoes. He's not teeny or dainty in his movements, and I would freak out if he decided he needed both stories of the house, not just the top one.)
Today the critter is making different noises than usual, and I've surmised that it's moving day. There sounds like a deliberate moving from one area to another, not the usual skittering, like when they're playing air hockey or Squirrel World Cup soccer. There was also a crazy sound a few seconds ago, like somebody dropped a box of squirrel paraphernalia. I didn't hear any swearing, though, so I guess it wasn't squirrel dishes or bowling trophies or anything else that would be hard to replace.
It's hard for me to NOT think like this. I guess non-writers would hear the noises and think, "Damn critters. Better call the landlord again." I hear the sounds and start creating a story around them. I haven't gone so far as to name the critters or give them a backstory. . .yet.
In some ways having my brain do this is inconvenient. I mean, I can scare the heck out of myself because my imagination is highly developed, ready to go into action, on call 24/7 like an elite team of Navy SEALS. The night-shift brain is trained to transform all the same daytime sounds into more alarming scenarios (i.e., I'm pretty sure the squirrels were practicing their midnight rappelling skills recently, until I thwarted them by moving the garbage can to a different area).
But I also like that my brain is always in tune to possibilities, willing to throw me an interesting morsel just from an overheard phrase, or a crazy sound outdoors, or from a sentence I've read. It's like it's always bending and stretching and keeping itself in shape while my body. . .ponders doing that. As long as I give my brain an outlet, it's happy, and it'll keep digging around all the ordinary things that surround me, finding something unusual and intriguing, and presenting it to me with pride.
All it asks is that I'm open, and willing, and that I do my best to put these things into words.
LOL You failed to mention the not so charming habit of this kind of brain being transfixed by rappelling squirrels yet totally incapable of concentrating on a human conversation. Or maybe that's just me! *wanders off muttering* Fun post!
Posted by: SG Redling | June 15, 2010 at 08:15 AM
Sometimes rappelling squirrels ARE more interesting than human conversation. (I won't admit how much time I spent this morning trying to decide if the squirrels outside were auditioning for Ultimate Fighting Championship or the next So You Think You Can Dance. LOL)
Thanks for stopping by!
Posted by: Donna Cummings | June 15, 2010 at 09:36 AM
HA! And I imagine the convos going on underground when my dog is posed over the gopher hole... The other day I could see the gopher, just out of reach, glaring at her, as she stared at him...
I think this is where most children's books are born, in those conversations...
Maureen
Posted by: Maureen | June 15, 2010 at 03:14 PM
You're probably right about the birth of children's books. LOL Wouldn't it be great to hear what your dog and the gopher are thinking? :)
The squirrels outside my door today were crazy. There were two that were either practicing their wrestling stances OR were moving their relationship to the next level. LOL
Posted by: Donna Cummings | June 15, 2010 at 05:05 PM