I should be so healthy, alive and awake
It’s summer now, so why am I not waking up? I stopped trying to keep my fingers on my pulse, I just act like a quack doctor gaping at random symptoms for which I can’t see any pattern or possible diagnosis. So I’ll nod my head vigorously, bobble-head that shit to my satisfaction and prescribe a most enticing snake-oil and the calming words:
“It’s perfectly normal for a woman your age.”
“Yup, this has been going around recently”
So this is how I sleep at night now l, with my back facing you, and my dreams bleeding into my pillow faster than I can sop them up, hands tangled in locks that tangle and nest around me like they have minds of their own and enjoy watching me extract myself from their grip.
I drink too little, indulge never. The drone of poets and writers cling onto my conscious in daylight, earbuds feeding me word and more word till I’m satiated and don’t remember what I thought I wanted to ever think.
It’s not summer’s fault and I hope it doesn’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t feel anything for it anymore. Not today at least.