Daydreaming
When I am sitting in a schoolroom and a teacher drones on, I find my attention going to the only window to watch the birds as they flit around the leaves. The slant of the sun on the window sill will get my full attention.
Other times as I'm dressing, I'll pick up a shoe and be gone in a trance for several minutes. My late-hubby used to call it the shoe trance. He would touch my arm and I would be back with a jerk.
I don't know where I go in those times. I have no memories, maybe because it doesn't go into my short term memory, but is hidden in firing neurons in the back of my brain.
I do know that I always have ideas flitting across my brain like shooting stars. I can feel the impression, but I don't exactly know where they come from.
At least it is quiet in there.
When I was growing up, I was irritated and stressed most of the time. I was the oldest of nine children and the noise didn't quit. The only time it was quiet was in the deep of night. In self-defense, I think my mother gave my brothers the small radios with earphones to keep them quiet indoors. It did cut down on the noise.
It was a relief when I first left home. Peace.
Even now when I go down to the lobby to talk to other seniors, I don't last more than an hour or two. It is too much input for me. When they do Bingo in the lobby, I know I can't handle the noise bouncing off the walls and the ceiling. The chatter is not comforting and I have to leave.
The most noise I can handle is jazz, which I turn down to a low level so it doesn't interrupt my thoughts.
I only have so much energy to spare.
When I was young, I had to be socialized into the extrovert world. I did just fine--for awhile.
In my father's house, daydreaming was a sin. It was a form of laziness.
It has taken me so many years to realize that daydreaming for me is another way to rest. It allows me to go somewhere else. Then when I come back this world is not so pressing and loud.