Sit at my desk, bright orange ear plugs stoppered both ends,
Listen to the sound of my own breathing,
Solace discovering that oligodendroglia produce myelin,
The yummy white material that wraps protects nurtures neurons,
Analogous to the Schwann cells of the peripheral nervous system.
Solace not at recognizing this analogy,
But at experiencing a slight wonder at this simple concept,
A wonder not experienced for what feels like years, centuries.
Science does not change, but humans do.
Humans with their stupid emotions, needs, actions and behaviors,
The entanglements and unnecessary wastage of energy and time.
But cold hard science is loyal and pure, immutable,
Often unappreciated.
The written word inculcates beauty into every air particle of my apartment,
Float in it, breathe it in, like a rookie astronaut in space.
What is this beauty spoken of ?
Lightness, joy even, but delayed gratification?
No, not delayed gratification, which is bullox euphemism,
For 'I am miserable but will take it anyway,'
Replace with current gratification, please,
Matters not from where or whom the written word hails.
Beauty is not discriminated.
And by the written word,
Each syllable unentangles me from the unnecessary wastage,
Saves me, allows me,
To revisit my oligodendroglia,
Giving them the attention they have always deserved,
Because who else can produce so altruistically that fluffy white myelin,
Like albino cotton candy for the hungry pampered little neurons.
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