Tumblers

Okay, you know that neurological wackiness called synesthesia? I don't have it. But I have this other weird thing:

I feel words.

No, I don't feel the emotions conjured up by words. That would be normal and not particularly blog-worthy. This, though? This "feeling" words? It's like they have mass. Except that's not quite right either, because it's not as though I feel like I could catch them in a jar or carry them around in my pocket. (Although that would be remarkable . . . and could be an interesting start to a short fiction piece ala Gabriel Garcia Marquez's "Light is Like Water.")

I don't spend nearly enough time stringing words together, but on the rare occasion that I actually write something more significant than a bulletin announcement, it takes for-freaking-ever. I don't have an expansive vocabulary--just ask the people who beat the tar out of me playing Words with Friends. Regardless, I frequently agonize over word choice. My delete key is worn as smooth as a worry stone: Type a word. Delete it. Type the first three letters of another. Delete that one, too, along with the four words preceding. Rinse. Repeat.

Until.

I hit upon the "right" word. My ear pressed to the safe, the tumblers fall into place and the door opens, allowing me to pass through to the next thought. I feel those words--those "right" words--in my core.

(to be continued eventually maybe but pro'ly not)