I have a headache. Dull, unfocused, just frustrating enough to make me want to go back to sleep. Hell, it took me three tries to get out of bed this morning. The simple act of sitting up wracked me with pain, not acute, but enough to make me regret having tried to sit up. Why I tried again eludes me, a soft whisper in a thunderstorm.
Were it not for A.W.’s snoring and the clanging construction equipment outside, I would be enshrouded in a thick silence. The door to the “balcony” is locked. A pitiful two-foot wide joke, inserted to allow access to a maintenance hatch or some other opening. Thick evergreen patches stand sentry around us, pumping out precious oxygen. Maybe that’s why its so heady, coming up to Foxwoods.
As I write this, though I’ll describe some events and situations unique to the experience, know that with the exception of the ever-flawed
***
Couldn’t sleep, not that this constitutes a particularly unique moment in this blink of eternity’s eye. Whether taxed with maturity’s myriad responsibilities, or buoyed by childhood’s few remaining indulgences, I spend so much time heartily suspended betwixt soporific wakefulness and uneasy slumber. Surrounded in darkness, the angular crimson numbers blind stare, powered by electricity and human ingenuity. When 0440 came around, the awakening foisted upon me by the trip’s exigencies made itself real, real as soft pulse of my own cheek against my pillow.
It is times like this I’m reminded of Awakenings, as I emerge from a lengthy dream entirely of my own subconscious doing, to a world familiar, yet not entirely. It also coincides with the inexplicable craving for McDonald’s breakfast food, and those grease-saturated hash brown patties in their oil-soaked-clear packages. As I stumble through the morning patterns, trying to impose my order upon this tired chaos, the beckoning continues. Eventually, I push back and eat some cereal, hardly a worthy substitute, but better for me in the long run.
(The long run. Hah. Would it not be more worthwhile to just get the McDonald’s now, and burn out bright as a supernova, igniting my youth and flaring into the skies, awed stares left in my wake? Sometimes I wonder why I keep doing “the right thing” in most aspects of my life, especially since I have started to do “the wrong thing” now and again, and the results, though not optimal for the world at large, benefited my life greatly. At some point, I will strike a balance, but until then, I eat Cheerios.)
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