Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Moisture

[Note: Written on January 31, 2010]

I wake up not completely aware of where I am.

I know that I am in my room, but for some reason part of my mind refuses to acknowledge its surroundings.

The light flooding in through my window this morning was unusually white; a cleaner illumination than the typical morning glow to which I have become accustomed.

After taking a few moments to regain my bearings, I manage to roll over and check the time on my screaming alarm clock.

7:32.

I silence the shouting tone with the snooze button and feel a little bit silly about the large pillow nestled comfortably between my arms.

It feels childish...needing to fill this space.

Oh well.

I don't care.

It makes the bed less empty.

I know that I should get up.

I need to take my medicine.

I need to drive to campus and finish a homework assignment.

But I don't.

I repeatedly press the snooze until 9:30, wide awake and staring at the clock the entire time.

Finally, I decide to get up.

I fight back the typical morning arousal and hoist myself from my bed.

It is dangerously late, but I take the pill anyway.

It hits me like a brick during my shower.

I have been off of the stuff for several days, and the reintroduction is powerful enough to force me to sit down for a moment.

Eventually, it passes, and I finish bathing myself.

I put on yesterday's barely worn clothes and decide not to bother with embellishing my hair.

Today is not worth the effort.

I brush my teeth, skip my morning shave, and walk out the door after gathering my things.

The air outside is cold and clean.

The fresh smell of the remnants of recent rainfall fills my nostrils.

I stand for a moment with my key suspended in front of the deadbolt and focus on the fragrances.

The metal of the banister next to me...the concrete under my feet...the soil and wet leaves of the small bush garden nearby...

They are all so distinct and beautiful; each one triggering vivid memories from my past.

I try to focus in on the smell of the air itself, but I am met with much difficulty.

The noise of the other aromas weighs too heavily in the unsensed humidity of the cool air.

Heaving a sigh of deep satisfaction, I lock the door and walk, invigorated, across the parking lot to my vehicle.

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