He felt that he had come to a sort of crossroads, where everything that is and isn’t intersect, that he had reached the place where life and death decisions were made and the full weight of consequence would be brought to bear. This was the place where souls were crushed and dreams were made.
He wondered if the Slushie machine was still broken.
Balancing at the edge of sleep, in the sweet spot where everything is thick and lethargic, is submersion in beauty. Gravity times ten. Too heavy to move, but in complete control of your dreams. You’ve gained a thousand pounds of weightlessness.
The warmth of total unconsciousness beckons you, tempts you with blissful sleep, it tries to woo you away from this rarest of places. Reality also wants you, it calls you back from the brink, with the voice of a ringing phone, or a small child needing assistance in finding the other shoe…it lies to you, “You left the oven on.”
You fight the urge to submit to slumber and remind yourself that you haven’t used the oven in days. This middle ground has a certain deliciousness to it and you want better taste, a closer look, just a few more moments in the netherworld and maybe you can unlock a secret or two. Access to this realm happens only once, maybe twice in a lifetime. This is the state in which the true essence of life can be seen without the fog of dreams, or the hum of lost shoes.
Here, the truth exposes itself for honest examination.
This is the place where I-don’t-give-a-fuck and It-doesn’t-really-matter are celebrated and honored.
Here is where life, and the naps that punctuate it, become Lucky Charms without the marshmallows.