Not Sleeping, Not Doing Anything

The hours crawl and the months disappear. Each morning the clock ticks away in the back of my skull and I stare into the dark and pour coffee, shower and dress, drive to work. Tick. Tick. Tick. The money's no good and the time drags and I'm staring at my phone too much. My eyes ache and I can feel the pull of the screen digging into my soft tissue, worming it's way deep into me, around my brain, my throat, my lungs, and I have no energy for anything else. I don't sing. I don't write. I don't paint. In the screen I search for connection. Through post after post, image and update, for those hours made of seconds I tell myself I am a part of this world. I beg to feel a part of this world. Staring at my fucking phone, hoping that at the end of the day I can go home and sleep. That I will close my eyes and be pulled into that other world. That heavy and warm world of shifting landscape and purpose and mystery. Sleep. Please let there be sleep.

The thoughts erratic and miserable.

Second day of a hangover and I'm sitting on my bed. The warm yellow glow of the lamp in the corner and the silence of the empty apartment. Cursor blinking on the blank page and I'm staring absently into the living room, watching the shadows of the ceiling fan blades slide endlessly over the wall. 

My phone vibrates and you are checking in on me.

"I miss you. Do you want to hang out? I kind of want to go thrifting."

I read it but I don't respond. I don't know what to say. I know I should respond. I know I should see you. I know I should spend the day with you and do that as often as I can because eventually those days disappear. I know what I should do. I set my phone down, lay back on the pillow and close my eyes. Please let there be sleep.

But it never comes.

A torrent of swirling images and memories. Hopes and regrets. Fears and dying dreams. All crashing quickly and loudly in my mind. 

Think of the sky, I tell myself. Think of water. Think of the warm breeze and the shade of tall trees. 

But I think of a smile. I think of a laugh. I think of a future and I think of impossibility. The fantastical absurdity of it. The weight of reality pressing into my chest. Bursting from my skull. Sleep never comes.

I think;

This day will end. Someday I will be glad I kept going.

Just not today.

Open my eyes. Sit up. Try to write.

Keep trying.