Through the eyes of perception
Let me tell you a boring story. It all depends on your lens, your perception is everything and everything is perception.
To the eyes of the ordinary, I walked into a gym which housed several rooms for several types of treatments. People are lifting weights, running marathons, receiving massages, soiled boots in the soiled boots section, the receptionists noting people and their appointments, some flirting their lives away.
Snooze. Right?
Now, let’s switch the lens up a bit, because this is what good writing is about, as is life.
I walked in, one of my cramped muscles made me think that I was doing strenuous exercise when I was walking into a door, which automatically opened for me at precisely 11:45, vividly displayed by the giant sized subway looking type of electronic clock that hovered above sweaty bodies,
jumping, running marathons, pumping weights those; with tattoos looked especially wild. And gleaming, from the sweat.
I put my grey soiled winter/not yet winter boots in the soiled boots section, and when I came out I noticed that some biker had managed to toss his Nike’s on top of my shoes, as if he didn’t have the extra 100 spaces left over for Nike’s and the such.
Isat down and watched people register at the registration desk, some men quiet obviously flirting with the good looking women and some couldn’t care less, while others are secretly competing with the guy in the glasses, who looked like an office worker, run a marathon on the treadmill. I was amazed, I can only imagine how many were pissed off that they couldn’t match the steam on his glasses.
After receiving my very expensive treatment, I noticed several rooms were occupied with massages, tanning beds, IV therapy and chiropractors, employing the newest methods to heal wounds of the Nike wearer’s and office type marathon runners. Some even had lasers beaming from the see through doors, so you knew they were expensive.
As I was leaving, the blinking subway type clock displayed a number that burned my corneas with their brightness, and I grabbed onto the chair to regain my balance. By the way, I have tattoos too. But I don’t break a sweat, I just put my soiled boots back on, after swiping off the Nike’s some b-tard had vehemently placed upon mine, and I leave for the 100th time the gym that had turned into a multiple use facility, knowing I’d be back on Thursday morning. I wasn’t about the run on the treadmill, rather running back into the warmth of my parka and white Escort, 2003 style.
You see, it’s all in what you see. I won’t tell you how to live your life, because I can rarely make sense of mine, but this much I know: It’s all in what you see, it’s all in the perception.
Anna Rozwadowska 2018
