Sounds that you can hear;
The fridge, humming as it circulates the cold air to keep my fruit and vegetables crisp. Little does it know its main contents is cheese and pickle.
A dog barks in a garden not so far away. It barks often, never really sounding distresses or excited. Purely like its barking because it likes the sound of its own voice. His people should probably pay him more attention. I say him, because I assume, that only a male dog would want to demand attention in such a way. I know nothing about ‘him’, or his people. I do not know his breed, his colour, or what his favourite toy looks like. Again, I assume, like when you create a picture of a person in your mind whilst you listen to them on the radio, or read them in a book. He silences as I write about him, as though for today, he is happy that someone ‘heard’ his voice, and now he is done.
My Chihuahua is chewing a treat. I am pleased as it’s a fresh breath stick. I am not so pleased that this has to be done quite so loudly as I try to engage my brain in to ‘writing mode’. She opens her mouth to chew once she has ripped a piece off, and when she has swallowed, she licks for a while, as though trying to soften the edge where she has pulled it away before it was ready.
Textures that you can feel;
The woven fabric of the sofa is not that comfortable when you really stop to think about it. It feels dry, too dry almost, like I should be cracking open the E45 and giving it some TLC?
My legs are soft, yet slightly prickly. The hairs breaking through from the last epilation are thin, but when my hand flows over them in the wrong direction, they still have enough about them to make my fingertips tingle. My hand doesn’t go with quite so much ease it reaches the back of my knee where sweat has begun form from my bent leg.
My legs feel my hands run up and down them. The pressure differs from the palm of my hand sweeping gently to an increased pressure as one fingertip searches for the best route to induce the most tingling in it.
Odours that you can smell;
There are lilies in the corner of the room, that only began opening or day or two ago. Half are still yet to open so the scent is not yet overpowering. It drifts passed as the breeze creeps in through the crack in the door that is not intended, purely ‘fucked’.
The sofa is relatively new, and you can still smell the ‘newness’, which if we’re being honest, is not entirely pleasant, like the smell of new clothes that you always wash before wearing, and unlike a book which smells like adventure. Full of hidden secrets you’re yet to uncover.
There’s gammon in the oven, covered in a sticky honey glaze that I can’t wait to eat! I want to smell more of it, but the lilies take precedent in this room.
Flavours that you can taste;
The aftertaste of coke that I can only assume no one really likes, which leads me to wondering why anyone ever drinks it. It’s flat which is how I like it, because it’s been left in the fridge overnight after a post-cinema McDonald’s trip.
If I concentrate, which I would really rather not, the faint taste of codeine lingers at the back of my throat, reminding me I am sick.
Objects that you can see;
The flowers in the corner smile at me. They know I appreciate them, but I will probably forget to give them fresh water when they need it. They’re the classic pink and white, with the brown and often transferred pollen. They’re very big, because my boyfriend likes to but the best, and they stand out against the wall which is supposedly ‘sand’ coloured. How can you call a colour sand, without specifying said sands location? And not one grain of sand, if inspected under a microscope would be identical to another. A myriad of colours and textures and sizes and shapes, quite disrespectfully – I think, shoved under the umbrella term for a colour, ‘sand’.
The leopard print curtains make me think that they’d probably be much better suited to a brothel. They’re not good quality. I bought them when I was buying everything else which meant my budget had to go a long way. They were cheap, so you can see through them, and often when I am watching the TV, I am distracted by the light outside.
I have a large, colourful, metal and glass gecko crawling up the wall. It’s not the only gecko crawling up the wall in the room but is by far the prettiest. She is supposed be in the garden on a fence, where the pink and green coloured glass in her abdomen catches the light. Her eyes are not glued on, but instead, encased in twisted wire which has been coiled around glass beads. She is beautiful, but has a look of not knowing it.