Well, no: actually, live sponges are dripping moist. And I'm not dead, so...I need a better metaphor.
I need a better writer.
At four o'clock in the morning, who doesn't. Ah, sorry; it's going on five now. Some days require larger amounts of staring into space befor fingers remember how to peck than other days.
Still scooping eye boogers: the rejected remnants of yesterday's dusty business which wandered carelessly into my centers of vision.
Blink. Rub.
Next!
Being a person who repairs her own electronics, whenever possible, I'm acutely aware of the semiviscousness of Albuquerque. Albuquerque never sits still. Oh, it settles, momentarily, but then it's swirling overhead again. Albuquerque is more a fine film that settles onto objects, than it is a location.
Clouds of Albuquerque swirl down the alley, spin over to the salt cedar, collapse. The salt cedar bows just enough to acknowledge the slight weight. The next gust will shake the cedar and sift the dust back down into the alley.
My cats are always dusty. Hence, baby blankets on all cat-friendly surfaces. It's easier to wash a blanket than a cat.
We all sneeze and rub our eyes. My television is never black. Picture glass, computer monitors, tv screens and mirrors are never clean.
For the longest time, I thought the tv monitor I use for my WebTV was getting ready to croak. "i" looked like "l." Internet art looked hazy and out of focus. It was very hard to read and see online. Then, I dusted the screen and the towel turned to mud. Oh. Dust! And I could see again.
For several years, I tried to outsmart Albuqueruqe. Anything electronic was carefully covered with a doily, scarf, napkin: any bit of light cloth, prettily decorated, would do. It looked like Attack Of The Victorian Grandmothers.
I still have the cloths. They're folded in my linen basket. Slipping and sliding were constant, and I wore myself out, straightening everything.
Besides, there's nothing like a warm box with a cloth on it to attract a sleepy cat. I was afraid my electronics would overheat!
I forget to dust. Occasionally, I pass something and sneer. I trot to the bathroom for a damp towel, and start rubbing. Every electronic in my house gets rubbed, once in awhile. Passive dusting does nothing but swirl it around so it can redistribute.
I find myself planning to put electronics as far as possible from doors, windows and vents. I mean, when I move into a place, I design the interior, based on dust!
The simple trot of a dog in the alley can look like Schultz' "Pig Pen."
There's no moisture in the air, so dust never clings. It wafts, all day, every day.
This is not a good town for the compulsive-obsessive.
This dust will outlive us all. It's like a living thing to be dealt with: remember to take out the trash, feed the dog and accomodate the dust.
I'm sure somewhere, in the vaults of Ripley's Believe It Or Not, someone has an eye booger collection. But they'd be humbled by the homegrown created in Albuquerque. I've seen my animals with half-sealed eyes; they'd just finally give up, digging, and the damn thing would grow like a zipper across their eye lids!
I've discovered, since living in Albuquerque, how much my cats like having their eyes rubbed. I learned it from gently swabbing eye boogers, with a solution of hyrdogen peroxide and warm water.
Porkchop actually likes me to SQUEEZE his eyes, as hard as I can, with my toes. He'll push his face under my toes, position his eyes, and blink expectantly. I'll squeeze as hard as I can. I worry I'll hurt him, but he sighs happily and presses his face to my feet.
Dust to dust happens faster in Albuquerque.
I had a Mexican lover here who'd sneeze violently, loudly. It would vibrate windows and scatter cats. After he'd recovered and was blinking, sniffing and rubbing his nose, he'd shake his head disgustedly and say, "Albuquerque!"
Yep.
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