Sassy's Up Late Again

In recent weeks, I've been experiencing the weirdest flashes of sensory recall. Perhaps it's related to my Paxil Experience, or perhaps it's completely normal and predictable; either way, it cracks me up to think about it. The first one came on slowly, and took me quite a while to identify. It was triggered by a song on the Muzak disc playing in the store. In fact, had I merely been shopping there, I'm sure I'd have barely noticed the incident and never thought about it again, but since I heard that same disc at least 4x a day for the entire month of December, each time I heard "Theme from Peyton's Place" playing, I would become awash with the strangest set of feelings. First, naturally, it made me smile because the song is just so damned cheezy, it's become a cliche of sorts--sort of the convention of "Muzak" you might hear while on hold with a large company. And once in your head, you find yourself first humming along, quietly, then louder, and soon you break into full-on "nah nah na-naaaaaaaaaaah! Di-dah, dah dah daaaaaaaaaah di dah..." I lingered in that state for a few days each time I heard it. But then I noticed that my humming and singing was not really as joyous and fun-loving as one might think, in fact, it was full of tension and nervousness. The more I heard the song, the more I noticed the tension. It got to the point that I could hear only a few introductory bars before I was already breathing harder and clenching my jaw. Now of course this is in the midst of my Paxil withdrawal, so I attributed it to that, but I also couldn't stop the train of thought that I had to solve this mystery in order to take away it's power. So why would this song make me tense? The song came on during a break one day about a week before Christmas, and I sat and relaxed, closed my eyes and let myself get lost in it for a few minutes. I'm humming along, feeling the nerves well up, and I get this memory of a *smell*. I take a deep breath, fully expecting to smell this familiar place, but it's not real. It's a plastic sort of smell... maybe some disinfectant, too. I'm fully engrossed in this memory now, letting the music keep me there as I search harder for an image to help me identify it. Nah nah na-naaaaaaaaaaah nah nah... plastic. And I want some candy. After this, I get some candy. Finally, I get an image: a Picasso painting. Dark, twisted, multi-colored faces... nah nah na-naaaahhhh nah nah... They'll give me a lollipop, but mom will let me get a chocolate bar in the shop down the hall... Finally, it hits me: my doctor's office. I'm about 6 and I'm in the doctor's office, and I have to get a shot. But if I don't give them a hard time, I'll get chocolate when it's over. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH, finally, mystery solved. Now I can just hear the song and smile at the memory. Which leads me to a few other "doctor visit memories". We had the tradition of getting a snack at the pharmacy in the building when we were done, especially if we had to stop to get a prescription. And why in hell would a pediatrician think Picasso was a good decorating choice for his office? What a weird guy! I distinctly remember that the art in all of his exam rooms was like that--lots of Picasso prints, along with a few I can't identify any more, but from that same school of "Look how weird I am" expressive painting... I recall sitting there just staring at the paintings trying to figure out what in hell would make a grown-up want to paint like that (I mean, every grown-up KNOWS you can't see both eyes on the same side of a profile, that's just WRONG, man!). We were returning home from a visit to his office, and I was lying down in the back of our Pacer (hee hee), when we heard on the radio that Elvis had died. My mom was so upset... Or the time we were sitting waiting for the doctor, and I asked my mom where a baby comes out when it's born. "We'll talk about it later." she said. I'm still waiting for her to sit me down and explain that.

But my favorite sensory recall happened just last week: I always let the kids buy some candy for our car trips to meet their dad. Last week, I chose a bag of Super Bubble gum for the kids to share. It didn't even hit me what I was buying, other than some individually wrapped pieces of gum that came in a couple different flavors. But when The Girl opened the bag, the smell hit me so hard I almost slammed on the breaks. Ahhh, Super Bubble! I hadn't thought of Super Bubble in so long, I might have forgotten it completely! I didn't recognize the name because I never gave a damn about the name, I only craved it's sweet, chewey deliciousness! When I was in elementary school, Super Bubble didn't come in nice little individually wrapped pieces. It came in big, long ropes. When I was in the 4th grade, my bus was the last one to leave the school. I got very impatient waiting, and one day I watched some kids from the neighborhood walk over to the mom and pop store on the corner. We were still waiting when they walked out again. I realized I had plenty of time to go buy myself some candy before the bus left. PLENTY! What was I doing just sitting there waiting every day?? The next day, spare change in pocket, I proudly strolled over to the store and ponied up my 10 cents to buy a rope of Grape Super Bubble. I was the envy of the bus. Children who barely knew my name were begging me for a piece. The second day, I chose Apple. I was quickly becoming the most popular student on the bus. I RULED! My entreprenuerial spirit was showing, even then: within the week, I was collecting dimes from friends to buy them their own gum, but I quickly tired of the work involved in keeping their orders straight. I told them that because I had to get so many, it was taking much longer to get it, and I was at risk of being late for the bus. To offset that chance, I would now need to have 15 cents to get their gum. And my Super Bubble Gum Conglomerate began. I don't even remember how long this practice went on, I just remember that feeling of being carefree, popular, and happy. And trying in vain to get the entire rope into my mouth at one time, and wiping the sugary drool off my chin when I blissfully failed. And that smell sticks me *right there* every time!