not interested.

I am not at all interested in the thesis I am writing, so instead I simultaneously toggle back and forth between ebay, itunes and hotmail. I also have the volume in my headphones down enough so that I can hear Matt and Cait’s conversation at the table behind in me in Bean Town. I’ve always loved multi tasking… it make me feel resourcefully fastidious like this little mouse I watched once as a kid while we were staying in this dusty old 17th century cabin in the Sierras. My family used to do things like that: pile the horses and pack into mysterious unknown places in the woods to stay for a week. I remember I was going to bed on the first night and the sun was setting and shinning its light on the dust mite encrusted bunk I was allotted. I was trying to stay still as to not stir a puff of dust, no doubt a combo of skin cells and dirt particles dating back to Lincoln’s presidency. I steadied my breathing and listened to the whine of the floor boards as my parents unloaded the Igloo. The stillness and light drew my eyes to the slightest little shaking in the bed overhead, raised on the bunk just a few feet above. I was too startled to scream for mom and dad. Out of curiosity and terror I pealed back the mattress casing at the sight of the smallest commotion. The gray mouse inside was working away and made me feel somehow sad and embarrassed at the cruelty of my brash exposure. He was working so quickly, stuffing the collection of twine, cotton and random trash, which made me unable to take my horrified glare off him. He didn’t look at me, he didn’t scurry at my hugeness; he was busy. I slept there that night with Mr. work-aholic mouse, listening to his tiny rustle, happy to know of his existence, happy to know that even the smallest parts of this world can appreciate the works of their hands.

~ by Jen on March 16, 2008.