At 28, I’m struck by realizations, distractions and a heavy conscious. I have not yet gone bald, though I think this is because of my genes. Otherwise, I’d be a clean shaved mess.
Beds are comfortable. I know this because I spent six months sleeping on the floor. If you’re lucky enough to experience this, you’ll soon begin to appreciate even the shittiest mattresses.
I don’t do well with back pain. It slows me down, sometimes to a full stop. I panic at the thought of moving furniture. I pause and reflect on my life decisions: the spiraling depression, the slow burn, the moment that lasts longer than it should.
So, this is why I sleep on a mattress now. Life is zooming by and time is gaining quickly. It overlaps and overlaps and overlaps. The only thing I can do now is to move forward. For now, it’ll remain a high priority — a responsibility.
It is never checked off, only checked on from time to time.
Yup, still there.
Then, there’s the neverending hunger and the idle moments that strip me from opportunity. Perhaps you think I’m being too harsh. Still, it’s something I cannot easily shake off, like gnats after a downpour.
Once again, I step into the kitchen. My stomach growls and my eyes scan first the fridge then the freezer then the large cabinet with all the dry foods. I search like a bear out of hibernation, and my stomach kicks like I’m expecting a child.
The opportunities, the disappointment, the anxiety — who ate all the eggs!?
Once I fill the black hole in my stomach, I have a decision to make: work or chill. I could peek at my phone because maybe there’s something I’ve missed; an important message from someone I haven’t heard from in weeks; a call from a stranger who thinks I’ll answer a phone call; a video that needs to be watched or I’ll never know what was trending on the morning of November 14, 2019.
What did the message say? Who was that stranger? What was trending on the morning of November 14, 2019?!
It’s difficult to imagine it getting worse than this — but it does. My time becomes focused on stimuli, and my phone is the center of attention. Not always, but often enough.
Or I could be a responsible adult and return to the piece I’m writing. I could fill in the empty spaces, and perhaps I could finally finish it and hit publish.
Maybe one day — maybe when I’m bald.