Feeling my back touch the cold leather couch, a slight chill gives way through my body like a jolt of electric shock. I stare down at the weathers predicted days ahead on the screen of my phone, and so much gray fills my vision. The room is dimly lit, in a perpetual shadow of fog and sleepy stillness. Sun wont be prying it’s way through my window in some days, urging me to plant my feet on the icy floor and attempt to make the day a successful one. It’s just clouds doing their slow sheepish dance through the sky, shadows reflect through my window and I feel hypnotized into a stagnant state, eyes heavy with the soul purpose of closing.
When we pick up a pen, let fingertips touch rigged plastic keyboard, or stand to face the one thing we enjoy doing, the body is ripe to betray. The pen draws lines of smooth flowing beauty, the words click in rhythmic motion showing the thoughts of a writers chaotic poetry. And then with on cue precision, our eyelids dive to bring about sleep, they attach lead to the eyelashes one by one until the weight is impossible to deter. And that will be the culmination of another attempt at expressing all the things your mind has cluttered up.
The body is cruel, words start to elude me, the flow of consciousness is beheaded at the guillotine. I feel my slipping back slide to one side and curl up into a ball of now tired, uninspired, sleepiness. It’s hit me again, I twitch in a vain attempt at “slapping” myself awake. Blankets twist and coil around me, knees pulled into my chest, a sigh of disapproval gives a tint to the air, but I know it’s far to late. Dragged down into the pits of sleep.
Time feels as though it’s paused to the duration that I was pulled into the mandatory grip of sudden slumber. The pile of blankets, I can imagine from an outsiders perspective, begins to stir. A groan of annoyance, limbs uncurled, the forced cat nap for this cat has come to a close. I feel neither refreshed nor in a better state of mind. My eyes feel dry, a more tight gripped stiffness to my neck, and a glance to the clock adds an instant frown to the mix.
“Why?” The word spells letter by letter across the blank black screen of my mind. Like an outdated computer way passed its prime, the crackles and creaks fill my ears and all my groggy database can muster is a simple “why?” The next words it undoubtedly grabs from the shallow dried up pool of memory, is a curse of immense agitation.
“God fucking damn it”
The mind never forgets the strange comfort of an outright swear of anger. No matter how fried and overloaded the system has become.
Hardware struggles to awaken after its forced restart and by god have you erased your last bit of patience for that day. The warmth I’ve accumulated leaves my body as soon as I lift myself from my leather clad prison.
“What was I doing? What were my plans? I started writing a flow of something or another and ah, to hell with it..”
The inspiration is gone, the the system is dragging at a snails struggled pace. It’s mid afternoon and it’s only an uphill climb from here.
I shuffle over to my aqua glowing chair and sit on one leg, now starring into a void of displeased cynicism.
Among the tornado of agitation, dissatisfaction, and apathetic annoyance, a box of bewilderment swirled in the center.
“What in the holy hell above and below just happened? Why did my body reboot as soon as it zoned into one of the few things that puts a fire under this old operating systems ass?”
A messy pile of open packages clutters at my feet. I blink and my brain tries to calm the now frantic cyclone it’s burned out equipment has created.
I refuse to count the time I lost during this excursion of pointless endeavor, counting it up to another burned out wire going off the rails.
And now I’m back at square one. As if all the previous habit harvesting and planned out intent had never occurred in the first place. That pile of clutter at my feet. The dishes in the sink. The chaotic spread of fuck all that smothers my bed. All the things that are starring me down, each particle of dust that lands on its visage boring the stare deeper into my subconscious. As if that particle were a savage insult to its existence.
The aquarium drip and confined lull of my fan play like track one on the album of my day. Will the tune change? Will the notes spark energy in the gray fogs haze? Or will another day end with track one on replay? ~
Update will be coming soon~