Any kind of rhythmic tapping sound upsets me. My brother drove me to tears once by tapping on the car window while we waited in the bank parking lot for our mother. I suppose I was older than six but younger than eleven.
This is cheesy, but during savasana after a restorative yoga class this evening, I had a memory of leaving New Zealand shortly after my parents divorced. I remembered green. The carpet in the Auckland airport is green, and the landscape of New Zealand is green. The view out the windows of the Auckland airport, even, is lush. Tropical even though the trees are mostly deciduous. So, green, and a vaguely cliche phrase my father said which I've often repeated but only just realized was something he said then at that particular moment: "I hate goodbyes." I haven't thought of this in ages, maybe ever, so I'm writing it publicly so I can't say I never thought it.
No wonder I am obsessed with airports. I have no idea why rhythmic tapping upsets me--now, it reminds me that time is passing, but when I was somewhere between six and eleven, why did it upset me so much?
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