The sight of an instrument without the concomitant discord of active and gurgling pumps will never not induce an unease. Magnet quenches. Power failures. Miscellaneous calamity. Or maybe just leaving a lab-space. It is the lack of sound that says, “Here is a dead thing”. Yes, I turned it off, and yes, I will turn it back on when the move is over, but in the meantime the eerie silence evokes something out of a morgue. One’d think maybe ‘graveyard’ or ‘side of the road’, but I imagine in those places there is at least the activity of naturally assisted decomposition, not the weird semi-stasis of cold storage.
I have never been to a funeral.
Not because there have never been times when I maybe should have gone. I sometimes wonder how uncalibrated I am, not knowing with any certainty what my baseline/limits are for feelings. In lesser days, I could punctuate (and maybe alleviate) this sentiment with a swig of antacid.