different outlets

This morning's vacuuming necessitated getting at remote, disheveled corner revealed by a recent section reorganization and overstock purge. My usual option, the power strip under the register, wouldn't quite reach. I couldn't find our (frayed, disreputable) extension cord, so I hunted around and discovered (rediscovered?) a dusty metal outlet box between a display case and the front window.

While the machine noisily absorbed the cobwebs, brick dust and light snowfall of accumulated dust jacket chips I noted how different the experience was from the usual routine. Vacuuming a swatch of rug I've covered countless hundreds of times, plugged in to the opposite wall. Using the same tool powered by the same energy, presenting a novel vantage.

In a small way that perception shift mirrors raising a child. You've gone about your self centered routine for however many years, lines of intent and perception radiating from a central core, when you're confronted with uncharted territory, presenting vistas you know inside out suddenly viewed outside in.
Ongoing vertigo.