The exercise:
Write about: the association.
We've made it safely to Vancouver. Tomorrow we continue eastward to home.
P.S. I'm working on catching up on comments before year's end. Please don't let that be an indication that I don't want new comments before that time. This blog gets quite lonely without your input and feedback.
Mine:
We were trying to catch the ferry that left Vancouver Island at 12:50 this afternoon, but we missed getting on it by a couple dozen cars. That meant we had to wait around for the 2:10 sailing (which ended up leaving closer to 2:30), so we spent most of that time in the little shopping and food court area of the ferry terminal.
At one point I needed to use the washroom, so I left Max with Kat and joined the lineup to use the facilities. When it was my turn I went into one of the two stalls and closed the door behind me.
The first thing that occurred to me was that the stall was designed exactly the same as the stalls on the ferries themselves. Same colour, same layout.
The next thing I noticed was the sensation of movement I felt, like I was on the ferry and the ship was rocking side to side.
That's a pretty strong association going on right there.
And that was before we got on our ferry and travelled through big waves to get back to Vancouver. Thankfully I didn't need to use the washroom onboard.
Then again, I'm still feeling that sensation of movement now that I'm in Kat's aunt's house. I'm hoping it goes away by the time I wake up tomorrow.
2 comments:
I assume the feeling of being on board a boat did eventually go away, or you'd have mentioned it again, but I like that the styling of the washroom was sufficient to trigger the association. Kat should totally redo your bathroom in the same colours and style :) I think it's fairly common though, for things like infrequent sailing to carry over briefly.
The association
"I am going to say a word," said Dr. Fraud. He'd been practicing his New York accent to try and fit in a little better and sounded like the female lead from Guys and Dolls. "I want you to then say the first thing that comes in to your mind. Do not censor it, and do not worry about what it is. Just say it. I will say another word, and we will continue this until I have enough data points. At that point I will say STOP and hit you on the shoulder, and that means the game is over. Are you clear on this?"
The man, George, sitting in the hard wooden chair opposite Dr. Fraud shifted uncomfortably in his seat. They were in Detroit and the doctor's accent was worrying him a lot. As was the threat of violence.
"Are you clear?" Dr. Fraud's voice might have had an edge to it, George wasn't sure.
"Righty-oh!" he said trying to sound cheerful. Dr. Fraud treated him to a puzzled look.
"We begin," he said. "Copperplate!"
"Aluminum," said George. He thought about adding "dish" to the end, but then Dr. Fraud had just said to say one word.
"No," said Dr. Fraud. "The word is aluminium. Say it properly."
There was a moment of shocked silence, and then George tried to explain that in American the word was, in fact, aluminum, and Dr. Fraud shouted over him.
"Aluminium," said George at last, the word feeling strange in his mouth.
"Coffeecake," said Dr. Fraud, breathing heavily.
"Copycat," said George. He started to relax again.
"No!" Dr. Fraud rose out of his seat. "Do not criticise the method! You have to work with this, or it'll do you no good at all!"
"Wha–?"
"Fine, I shall tell you what to say," said Dr. Fraud, his face white and his fingers gripping his clipboard tightly. "Though this is now twice the work for me and I'll bill you appropriately!"
"Wha–?"
Greg - actually it hits me every now and again, not too strongly. Usually when I'm looking down at a sink full of water - doing dishes seems to be the worst for it. It's gradually getting better though.
Ah, Dr. Fraud. So good to see him again :) Poor George, though. He seems like he's in for a very tough session...
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