Today I woke without alarm and without ache or pain. Seems a lovely change of pace. I lay. Noise outside my rowhome was regular - a newspaper hitting the door, car engines whirring, a boisterous good morning from the porch houses. None of it was deafening. I lay. I lay and watched the local meteorologist encourage me to get out and enjoy the day as summer handed the baton of season to autumn and a sunbeam cascade through the blinds onto my cheek.
I could not bring myself to rise. And the mere thought of getting pants on was not conceived in any synapse of my brain, also lying, in a laze, pain free and unaffected by the tick or the tock of responsibility.
I lay.
It is regular to be pained - even moreso when the sunlight illuminates.
So why then, I wonder, on a day free of the inside noise and ache, do i lay in apathy for the world?
Eight - thirty happened. Nine o'clock did too. I was not a participant. I lay.
My head is in motion now. It churns with the unease of being free of pain and chaos. I sit at the train station with cicadas buzzing in my ears, waxing and waning in cycles of sound and think curiously about the one who isn't ready to make noise yet. The one with the broken wing who may be ready tomorrow or the day after.
I am that bug. I am surrounded by noise and chirp through days because it's expected. I power through the days I hurt and on the rare occasion when I don't, I'm not sure exactly what to do with my body - but there is a piece of me that just wants to lay.
On the train, I hear the white noise of the air conditioning. I see the flueresent lighting and overhear conversations. Someone sniffles. Someone turns the page of a graphic novel I strain my neck to read. A woman whose bun is bigger than her head shakes in laughter at the absurdity a fellow commuter shares. Another day, these noises would be uncomfortable. They would hurt my ears and my thoughts. Today, I'm at peace.
And it seems strange to go on so long about it, but the very ease at which my eyes and ears are participating in my journey is alarming to me.
For those who are normal - for those who don't understand there is a regular in which some take comfort because a normal is unattainable - there will never be an understanding of the rest of us.
It's not quirky or cute - Its a struggle. It's bizarre and wonderful and terrifying and disheartening and every other feeling there is, all jumbled up as a ball of knotted twine ... without the capacity to foresee what will be unraveled before it vomits out making a mess.
Today I feel normal. And perhaps I lay so that I could feel that? Perhaps I lay so that I could file away everything associated with normalcy? I think I finally understand why it's lovely to be in such a state.
Thursday August 31. The day seems important in a memory somewhere, although press me and I will not conjure up the truth or a lie about a moment that had occurred. But this morning, I think the sheer complacency of inner peace is enough for me.
I could not bring myself to rise. And the mere thought of getting pants on was not conceived in any synapse of my brain, also lying, in a laze, pain free and unaffected by the tick or the tock of responsibility.
I lay.
It is regular to be pained - even moreso when the sunlight illuminates.
So why then, I wonder, on a day free of the inside noise and ache, do i lay in apathy for the world?
Eight - thirty happened. Nine o'clock did too. I was not a participant. I lay.
My head is in motion now. It churns with the unease of being free of pain and chaos. I sit at the train station with cicadas buzzing in my ears, waxing and waning in cycles of sound and think curiously about the one who isn't ready to make noise yet. The one with the broken wing who may be ready tomorrow or the day after.
I am that bug. I am surrounded by noise and chirp through days because it's expected. I power through the days I hurt and on the rare occasion when I don't, I'm not sure exactly what to do with my body - but there is a piece of me that just wants to lay.
On the train, I hear the white noise of the air conditioning. I see the flueresent lighting and overhear conversations. Someone sniffles. Someone turns the page of a graphic novel I strain my neck to read. A woman whose bun is bigger than her head shakes in laughter at the absurdity a fellow commuter shares. Another day, these noises would be uncomfortable. They would hurt my ears and my thoughts. Today, I'm at peace.
And it seems strange to go on so long about it, but the very ease at which my eyes and ears are participating in my journey is alarming to me.
For those who are normal - for those who don't understand there is a regular in which some take comfort because a normal is unattainable - there will never be an understanding of the rest of us.
It's not quirky or cute - Its a struggle. It's bizarre and wonderful and terrifying and disheartening and every other feeling there is, all jumbled up as a ball of knotted twine ... without the capacity to foresee what will be unraveled before it vomits out making a mess.
Today I feel normal. And perhaps I lay so that I could feel that? Perhaps I lay so that I could file away everything associated with normalcy? I think I finally understand why it's lovely to be in such a state.
Thursday August 31. The day seems important in a memory somewhere, although press me and I will not conjure up the truth or a lie about a moment that had occurred. But this morning, I think the sheer complacency of inner peace is enough for me.
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