The sedative has made the world pleasantly numb, the strep throat a distant burn, the coughing finally soothed. I close my eyes, and the world spins happily, lazily, like it should. I’ll spiral to pleasant oblivion soon, like i should.
I sit here contentedly, the deadline at 9:00 am tomorrow a lazy excel file too far away to care.
A distant part of me wonders why our souls scratch and claw our way up in every day life. Why everything should be so frantic, so stressful, so full of disquiet and fraught with itchy emotion. Why do I reach so far so high so fast? My body lies broken by the way side, long discarded because it couldn’t keep up. Yet I continue on, running the race, sinew muscle worn down to bone, eyes drooping heavy, key board blurring, writing, writing, writing. Till my being shrinks as consciousness wanes, till my vision tunnels, till my mind can only hang onto one last shred of thought, and still, still that one question of why remains, the one question that seems to haunt me to the furthest recesses of my being, to the frontiers and backwaters of what defines me.