I feel it all oppress upon me in a moment, getting in through the pores of my skin. As if the present reality weren’t already enough, my past memories add a film over my surroundings, like a projector movie playing on a canvas that is not white, but already has something painted onto it. The physical feeling of sensation combines with the emotional feeling of something other than sensation, like the difference between being touched being physical and what happens when you’re falling in love being something else. I suppose the materialists would tell you it’s all physical if you get down to it, but it doesn’t feel that way. It feels like there’s just so much and I can’t swivel my head all the way around like an owl to see everything. So I sit here on my hands looking left out the window and all the bustle on the street, and right at our white wall inside the apartment that is almost more interesting with all my memories playing on the movie projector screen. And the black pepper from the tuna salad that I ate for lunch tingling on my tongue. I wonder how I ever feel bored.