I was trying to work out if it was raining, and if so, how hard. I tried looking at the puddle gathered over the non-functioning drain to see if I could see drops falling in it, but it was too disturbed by the wind playing over its surface for me to tell. So I turned my attention to a brief patch of through-road I can see, a short distance where I get a reasonable chance to see the windscreens of cars as they drive along. What I was hoping for was to see whether or not they had their windscreen wipers on. In order to do this, I had to look at a patch of road, spot a car, then focus on the small part of the total surface area of the car that was its windscreen, then try to see if I could see a narrow blade moving across it.
And the weird thing is, I could do it. It’s so strange my brain can recognise patterns in amongst the welter of photons continuously striking the back of my retina. It’s so strange that it can render a moving car as a discrete object moving through space, not just a smear. But then, for my brain to be able to perceive the car as a moving object while simultaneously perceiving the windscreen as an unmoving background against which I can perceive another, much tinier object moving. That’s just too strange.
It just doesn’t seem real that all of this can be real. We are such strange creatures. If we didn’t exist, you’d never believe that we existed, we’re the kinds of things that only happen in dreams.
Sometimes I feel so transparent, so much like I’m not really here. Doing this, sitting in front of a computer, typing, it doesn’t feel real. It feels like what’s real is what rattles around and around and around inside my head, and that feels like it doesn’t happen inside my head, but above it, behind it, beyond it somehow. I can’t explain it, I can’t put it into words, I can only feel it. I’m not here, I’m over there, somewhere, but I don’t know where over there is, but I’m not here. I look out through these eyes but these eyes aren’t mine, they’re not real, they’re not me. I’m not here, I’m caught here, part of me is, but I don’t belong here.
This me, and the real me, I want to put them back together, but I can’t, because they’re too far apart, and they don’t fit any more.