Written By: Jordannah Elizabeth
You got the backwash of the elixir of life. – my homegirl, Sarah
I have been talking about a concept for an essay for a couple of days now. The short anecdote is a true and simple story, but I cannot consciously avoid beginning this piece without mentioning it, and furthermore making it the premise and foundation of a feeling I have been trying to uncover since it happened.
I woke in a puddle of someone else’s drool.
In context, this not a very exciting declaration, but from my perspective, it awakened a level of perception that I thought was long lost in my personal routine of interaction. I had forgotten what it was like to be intimate. I flew in 15 airplanes last year. I flew back and forth across the country, touring, writing and trying to find an answer to a question that may have not been a relevant question at all. I have been lost for a very long time, and on the contrary have carved out a functional lifestyle and career that is purely fun, and rewarding.
Drool is the root of a larger level of introspection that makes me challenge how I have been going about things. Drool is a manifestation of matter that I never deemed to be important, and yet there it was, on my face.
I was ok about the whole thing when I thought it was my own. I had slept soundly after spending two days writing music, and socializing in a new circle that was getting familiar with me as much as I it. It was very plausible that the drool was mine, and I accepted it and wiped if off my face with the palm and back of my right hand. I was a bit astounded at the amount, I am a small person, and quietly questioned the abnormality of my sleeping pattern… I honestly cannot remember who I found out it was not my own. I cannot soundly profess that I had an intuitive realization that it trickled from someone else’s head (the person who was sleeping next to me), or if I had participated in an odd conversation that drew out the answer to what seemed like an insignificant mystery moments before.
I just know something changed in me that morning, and I was fixated on the fact that in all my days, I had never let someone get close enough to me to ooze excretion on my head. That’s not really my M.O..
Everyone that I mentioned this story to, even the culprit, found the situation quirky, but they understood it a lot better than I did. I felt stunted because everyone in their own way looked at me and described the scenario as “intimate”, like it was a no brainer. Everyone had their own perspective, but as my friend, Sarah and I sat on the telephone last night confused and bewildered by the simplicity of our life’s complications, she said, “You got the backwash of the elixir of life”.
That is how we felt at the time. She had explained my simple story on such a profoundly sassy level that I had to stop and quote her.
I got the backwash of the elixir of life. Had I been cheated in some way? I know the next question that might pop into your head would be, “Well, what kind of excretion would rather have on your face?”. I understand how that could be a valid question, but maybe it’s just an expression of how inexperienced I really am. Inexperienced with intimacy. It doesn’t matter if I am almost 30 years old, because I am here, writing and thinking about shit.
There is not really a moral to this story, or even a completely appropriate way to conclude this segment of my expression…that is why this is column. I will continue to think and write.
My last couple of essays have been about death. I am through mourning, at least for now, and I am working to explore what it is to live.