I’ve been spending a good part of the day on a personal project that truly baffles me. My boyfriend and I were playing another self-invention of a game the other night. The rules are that player one has to smack their hands on the wall, and guess the name of the film player two is singing the soundtrack to, while being tickled. And under no circumstances connect his/her hands to anything but the wall, until the guess is approved. I personally put tickling in the this-hurts-like-Darth-Vader-hurts-peoples-feelings category. In this category you can also find the bumping-your-toe-into-a-tableleg pain. The thing they have in common is the high peak of annoyance level they take you to. Kind of like when I did the cinnamon challenge without knowing how it devilishly brewed an increasing dry Sahara in my mouth. I was ten, and well annoyed. The thing with tickles though, is, that seem to diffuse giggles all over your annoyance, which tricks you both mentally and physically, similar to the event of a unicorn breaching reality poking your with its giant poking device of a horn. I would giggle a bit however, I’m thinking it would be annoying too, and because of its mythical status, I would be quite confused. However, I managed to bring myself to an even more impressive state of confusion, when I then today re-gained one of my observations as a child. You cannot tickle yourself! And this is what I based my personal project on today. Even if I really scrubbed my fingers with a chinesemassa(cre)ge power against my ribs, it doesn’t do the trick. I wonder if I used someone elses hand to tickle me – but with my hand and movements, would I then be able to create the tickling sensation? I just don’t get it.
I must admit that I place myself in the “love for the winter” catagory, and like Ned Stark – I’m prepared when winter is coming with cuddly wearings. However, it feels like winter has been here for the time it took Zeus to grow that amazing beard of his, and now I just want to be smothered by the glorious feel of a warm sun. Our apartment is so cold, that it wouldn’t make any difference to sit here, or to have Edward Cullen desperately breathing on me with his freezing fumes.
There are many things, you can observe in this Antartica remake of London, and one of those things are the way we produce heat physically. When your hands are cold you creep them in a model of ‘Jesus Blessing Hands’ and blow on them with intention of producing instant heat. But then why do we at the same time blow on our hot food or drink to dip it down to a colder scale? How does that work when it’s the same heat used on polar things? It doesn’t really make any sense when you throw a brain bomb at it. I don’t put “(I’ve Had) the Time of my Life” on when I don’t feel like dancing, but somehow our inside air just does the job for both warm and cold. I just don’t get how?