The Big Winding Down

Sometimes the minute my eyelids pry open, I know it's going to be a shitty day. Everything seems heavier. My thoughts, my limbs, my head, even the air, it's crushing me. I become immobolized. I lay in bed not because I want to, but because I think of all the things i could be doing (laundry, reading, coffee, photography, attempting to paint the view from my deck, dance class, movie, TV, or even doing work...and the list goes on). I feel as if I'm being pulled in all different directions and all this incessant tugging only traps me more into a zombie position. Instead my gaze is fixated on my bare white ceiling. It suddenly occurs to me that i don't know how to paint. Black. White ceiling. I should really take some prints to the ritz or something and get it framed, then maybe my walls wouldn't be so bare. Black. White ceiling. Black. White ceiling. The minutes fly by, and I still haven't made a decision yet. What would dad say right now, right now, if he were here. People who accomplish great things never laid in bed indecisively. Black. White ceiling. Black. White ceiling. It'll pass. Black. White ceiling. Black. White. Black. White.

When all the screaming inside my head dies down. I miss it. I use to have a clear definition for it. The details, the specifics, all so precise. I knew what I missed, I knew what I spent the better half of my day lamenting. Now. It's hazy. Time has winded down the specifics, worn away the memories. Time has taught me to demand more from myself, to understand the intricate way in which life unfolds. I am eternally grateful to time. But there's still it. That nagging missing which will not disappear easily. At this point, I don't even know what it is. Isn't that absurd. No clearcut reason, no real instigation, and yet I can't seem to get out of bed. And even amidst all this truth, human fallacy sticks out like a sore thumb. All this potential but only one real choice, to wait for it to pass. Black. white. Black.