fire

It takes a great effort for me not to think of things I see and experience throughout the day as metaphors for something. This is my tendency, but to paraphrase J.L. Borges, the idea that the mere mention of something, or the appearance of a metaphor for something can summon its existence is simply the stuff of novels, not of real life. Un-fortunately.

But anyway, I was in the gym on the treadmill, and there was a mirror right in front of me, only it went up to my neck. So for half an hour I was staring at my running body, watching my stiff t-shirt absorb pungent perspiration, not once seeing my face. The treadmill is already ripe for metaphor-dom; the idea of running and running and running and going absolutely nowhere, although your body responds as if you had been going for however long. In fact, you only actually change locations once you remove yourself from the machine, to go home and resume moving at normal speed, not on an elongated conveyor belt.

Too soon.