We used to use backrubs like currency
Mar. 18th, 2008 10:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mhuzzellLunchtime conversation today waxed pseudo-philosophical as someone pointed out--as people are wont to do from time to time--that we never really touch anything; that all we actually feel is 'electron repulsion'. And that's true, in a sense. In the sense that all of us, and everything, is mostly empty space. In that there is very little truly solid matter in the world. But in a much more important sense, touch is probably the realest of all our sensory perceptions--it is the most important sense.
Premature babies have to be touched, or they wither and die in their little tanks. Hospitals even employ special people to go around touching them--massaging their limbs, stimulating their nerves, etc. There are special techniques for this, but really the most important thing is that they are touched at all. And, at least after a frightening period of Scientifically Recommended detachment in the first half of the 20th Century, most people acknowledge that children need to be hugged and cuddled and such.
But what about adults? Surely we also need a bit of human contact? Or is it just me? My family was pretty cozy, growing up. Y'know, we almost never went to bed without a hug and a kiss goodnight, and not just as tiny children. That kind of thing. And sure, I basically left home at 14, but even so, it was to hippie schools. We held hands before each meal, and (being teenagers in rural places with nothing better to do), we spent a lot of our free time wrestling like puppies. Still, when it came right down to it, even then I missed having a hug every day. I still do.
I suppose this really boils down to personal whining. But you know, I've still gotta pull the it's-my-journal card from time to time. Because I am so lonely lately. I'm not exactly starved for social or intellectual company, but I am physically lonely. Isolated, physically and emotionally, and far too picky and prickly to find a lover. It's not like I never touch anyone--though I'm usually too shy to initiate any kind of affectionate gesture--but these are usually the very chaste, social, split-second hugs of casual frienship, and that's not quite what I mean. I keep thinking of visiting Russell this past winter, snuggling up with him every night. We're almost exactly the same height, so we fit together perfectly, like a pair of spoons. I miss my friend, of course, but I can still talk to him on the phone. It's on a much deeper level that I miss the intimacy of seeing him. The closeness. The touch.
Premature babies have to be touched, or they wither and die in their little tanks. Hospitals even employ special people to go around touching them--massaging their limbs, stimulating their nerves, etc. There are special techniques for this, but really the most important thing is that they are touched at all. And, at least after a frightening period of Scientifically Recommended detachment in the first half of the 20th Century, most people acknowledge that children need to be hugged and cuddled and such.
But what about adults? Surely we also need a bit of human contact? Or is it just me? My family was pretty cozy, growing up. Y'know, we almost never went to bed without a hug and a kiss goodnight, and not just as tiny children. That kind of thing. And sure, I basically left home at 14, but even so, it was to hippie schools. We held hands before each meal, and (being teenagers in rural places with nothing better to do), we spent a lot of our free time wrestling like puppies. Still, when it came right down to it, even then I missed having a hug every day. I still do.
I suppose this really boils down to personal whining. But you know, I've still gotta pull the it's-my-journal card from time to time. Because I am so lonely lately. I'm not exactly starved for social or intellectual company, but I am physically lonely. Isolated, physically and emotionally, and far too picky and prickly to find a lover. It's not like I never touch anyone--though I'm usually too shy to initiate any kind of affectionate gesture--but these are usually the very chaste, social, split-second hugs of casual frienship, and that's not quite what I mean. I keep thinking of visiting Russell this past winter, snuggling up with him every night. We're almost exactly the same height, so we fit together perfectly, like a pair of spoons. I miss my friend, of course, but I can still talk to him on the phone. It's on a much deeper level that I miss the intimacy of seeing him. The closeness. The touch.
