The Art Of Existing


I am awake. I am not sure if I fell asleep. I can’t remember if I did. I’ve just been lying here idly waiting for my alarm clock to fulfill its purpose. I’ve been waiting and waiting as my eyes stare at nothing in particular. There’s just shadows and darkness, an abyss of nothing suitable for the current mood. I could think about things, things I’ve planned, things I still need to do and things I will probably never do. I’ve done enough thinking for a lifetime but I could do it anyway I suppose. So I think and think, not sure what I want to accomplish with all of these winding thoughts but I don’t restrain my mind. There it goes, running in circles. I can feel the neurons shooting in every direction. I can feel the chaos ensue triggering a terrible pain. I guess the medically correct name would be a migraine but I think it’s just the neurons collectively telling me to shut the fuck up. I wish I could but that ship has sailed, left the harbor or whatever the metaphor is. I am awake, sleep deprived with running thoughts and a piercing migraine. It could always be worse, my rational side tells me. I am about to agree but then my alarm rings.

Suddenly my neurons have a new enemy and a wave of profanities colors my judgment. I get up because what else is there to do. There is no alternative but to get up, move and go – the action based lexis I have yet to yield from. The alarm still rings because I let it. It’s not very considerate of me, I know. There’s folks still sleeping and I should consider their welfare. I should do a lot of things but I consider this one of those things I’ll never do. So I let the alarm ring, willfully create a mild form of disruption and misfortune. Grunts and a few curse words can be heard in the background but my empathy is lacking.

I’m not sure when empathy ceased. I can’t pinpoint when I surpassed that milestone of growing up. Like many childish notions, it just seemingly vanished and I woke up one day letting the alarm clock ring. Maybe I have faulty memory because there’s many things I’ve stopped noticing – the dates on the calendar, days of the week, acquaintances and so on. All of these things are now just a big blur. Everything appears fuzzy and unknown. I am not scared though; I don’t really feel anything. My emotions would be best described as a mere shrug, an idle indifference to everything I encounter. I’ve created structures, planted the seeds for goals and done some other responsible feats. Yet, there’s an underlying uncertainty that plagues me which I’ve learned to live with, make do, accommodate, tolerate – you know, the natural grown up response. Occasionally the vacancy bothers me enough to try to fix it. Clarity where art thou is the rhetorical question I project to the universe. I ask around but nobody seems to have that answer either. It’s just life, they retort to me. It is what it is. You just kind of exist, in some status quo of stagnation and survival, not knowing much of anything.