Spring comes on like an anesthetic, like some mild sedative rendering everything hazy and insubstantial. I felt lost, like I had just awoken from a long sleep and I couldn’t rub the blurriness from my eyes. There must be some biological explanation for my emotional state this time of year. I bet it is allergies.

I slept with the window open last night, and the cold air woke me up at three AM. It is important that I wake up several times before I actually need to get out of bed. It is empowering to abuse my snooze button, I feel like I’m cheating time.
Time is like an ancient snake, it winds and twists, and it is difficult to perceive. The passage of time is not a passage, but instantaneous. It doesn’t flow, it just is. It hardly is at all sometimes, especially in the morning when I’m woken up by cool spring air.

I hope and pray every morning that the shower is hot. This morning it was warm, but it was more like old water left out in the sun, and it didn’t expel the chill from my body. I mopped the water from my face with a towel, and stared at the wall for a few moments. I tried to slow time down, but I felt the clock probing me from the other room, urging me to step out of the tub. But it was cold in the bathroom, and the tile felt like ice, so I stood staring at the wall for another minute.

Finally I dressed, and dashed madly about the kitchen looking for my keys and something to read. I started my car and panicked, it was 7:15. I couldn’t be late again. I rushed out of the driveway and forgot my white car, and NPR on the radio, and forgot myself, and sped to school. I left it all behind me in a hazy streak, in a blur that only the half-asleep can hope to understand as they rush out the door.

The solitude of the morning routine is essential. Everyone should be afforded the privilege of waking up alone. There is nothing more disconcerting than being in the company of others before one has had ample time to mull over dreams. Dreams don’t necessarily tell us anything about ourselves, but they are natural escapism. That is why we hate our alarms. It’s like a drunken brawl at a mellow get together, or an obnoxious patron in a theater. The shrill, electronic beep disturbs the calm peace of a waking dreamer.

When I parked in space 84, the clock said 7:23. I had made it on time. NPR said it would be warm that afternoon, and it was.

Fucking awesome. Well-written, and the content ain't too shabby either.
» Bartholomew on 2007-03-15 09:51:24

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