And I tend to notice a lot of detail, but I've found that there's almost always a reason why I catch certain details but not others. Same with the way some things tend to rattle around in my head for awhile until I pay attention and identify why: there's a reason even if I can't figure it out immediately. I used to think this was God's way of talking to me. Now I think it's my own way of teaching myself things. Maybe the two are the same, who knows.
So perhaps it's a heightened sense of introspection, or it's something else, but I feel lately as if the random things rattling around are bestowed with a greater sense of metaphor than usual.
But metaphor is a comparative exercise. So is there a word to describe when you can't easily identify the thing being compared? When you recognize some occurence or detail as being metaphorical relative to that ... one thing ... that's there, somewhere, in your experience, in your mind, if only you could think of what that thing is? Without it, all you have are these experiences that are highlighted somehow, emphasized, potentially meaningful, but with no resolution. So maybe I'm trying to teach myself something, but haven't figured out what to learn from it yet.
F'rinstance, here are some of my half-metaphors lately:
- You can tighten a screw that's worked its way loose in a piece of wood, by removing the screw, drilling out the hole a bit, and gluing a short length of dowel into it. After sanding even with the surface, pre-drill a guide hole, and the screw will hold tight again.
- If I do it carefully, I can take the key out of the ignition, while driving my car, and the engine continues to operate.
- Talking to a pregnant friend recently about her developing twins, I learned that the fetuses are likely to exchange positions with each other at least once, before birth. This is usually a coordinated effort between the twins, but how each is able to distinguish its own surroundings from the other twin, no one knows.