uncomfortably numb

Yesterday I was fairly blase about a quarter of my finger being numb. Today I see the scar and don’t think much of it, but the thought of permanent numbness is wigging me out. It’s not like I need feeling in it for it to work. Perhaps it is the finality of the injury: this will never work as it once did, and I will die with it not working as it once did.

Shortly after we first met, Jonathan and I had a conversation about emotional experience that set my little brain-wheels a-turnin’. It seems I articulated something I hadn’t fully considered yet, which is rare for me – I usually only express opinions I’ve carefully thought through – but the more I think, the more I realize its validity. It’s not that we experience less as we get older; rather we experience things for the first time less often. Experiencing things for the first time requires a lot of time and energy, both during the thing and then in post-processing. Consequent similar experiences are compared to the initial template, requiring less output from the individual.

Really we just expend less and less energy until we must do nothing at all, and then we fade away.

This was a lot more upbeat in my head. Hey, where’s the funny photoset about existentialism? Damn.

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I acknowledge that I live and work on stolen Cowlitz, Clackamas, Atfalati, and Kalapuya land.
I give respect and reverence to those who came before me.