Flicker
My eyes flicker open and I remember who I am.
The dream-state subsides, and I’m left with filtered reality.
Here on this bed, resting its haunches on the floor.
Sheets are scattered in bundles.
The cat is snoring next to me.
I left the fan on; the sound helps me to sleep.
Or at least, it overrides the other noises that might wake me up.
Even having lived here a few years, the creaking of the house’s structure is alarming.
I left the fan on; so that’s what I hear now.
The sound is fading in and out while my scrambled thoughts congeal into something edible.
Sometimes the birds chirp in the morning, too.
Lately, maybe it’s been too hot; they have moved North for the summer.
My eyes flicker open and I remember who I am.
This is not in contrast to anyone else.
There is no parallel version of me.
It’s a singular opportunity — you know, just being, just existing, the only thing occupying your space.
Not long ago, every morning I would wake up to an ache in my left hip.
It was a sharp pain when I moved wrong, followed by a dull pulse for the rest of the day.
This has gradually dissipated since other injuries have taken over.
My ankle, my shoulder, and most recently, somehow, my elbows.
Seriously, I have the pain of an acrobat, but my job is to remain motionless in a chair.
My eyes flicker open and I remember who I am.
I have more mantras in my pockets than I have dollars in the bank.
My mouth is sticky. I remember consistently hydrating last night, ginger hibiscus tea, herbal, caffeine-free. Apparently, it does not refresh the senses all the way through sunrise.
My eyes flicker open and I remember who I am.
Every morning is an obstacle course.
It is not possible for me to walk in a straight line to get to any destination.
Any way you turn, SOMETHING IS THERE TO AVOID.
That is one of my mantras.
My morning routine used to take a few minutes.
Now it stretches into hours.
I find myself wandering around in circles from one stage of entrancement to another.
By the time I get back to step one, I have already forgotten what it was.
This is why everything seems to take forever, but everything also tends to come to completion and fruition at identical moments.
This methodology is baked into my very DNA.
My chromosomes require it.
My eyes are flickering because I’m tired already.
I have been awake such a short time.
I have barely emerged from the haze and stumbled into the ocean of contradictions.
Already it feels like too much.
Too much already.
Just let me lie down, and let my eyes flicker.
