Shafts of light fall through and spill onto the floor from beneath the curtains. It is day. Not dawn, not early morning. It is close to noon.
I hear her waking me up every time I close my eyes to rest, in her usual commanding voice. Startled awake from my half-sleep, I look around and she isn’t there. It happens again. And again. I expect her to come in and tell me of the various things that I must do even when I am awake. Calling it a waiting game would be an understatement.
Coming to my wit’s end is not an option. I must obey. She is in control. I am not.
I have made her a monster in my head. I have embellished details, perhaps. Seen the bad, forgotten the good. But it is her that wakes me up now. And waking up is a chore in itself.
I have forgotten how it was when I was younger. Maybe that is why we’ve come to this. I have forgotten many things. Many, many things I know I should remember. That are there, somewhere, in boxes and trunks hidden under white sheets that have gathered dust and turned to gray. A long while ago I packed shit to leave. Somewhere along the way the habit took on a life of its own. Now I just pack shit, and I dont know why. Its all there, somewhere, insignificant, unimportant, dusty, unwanted, carelessly wrapped, gotten rid of. Parks, phone numbers, faces, names, parties, events, random recollections of funny incidents with the family, on the sofa, laughing.
At least, that’s what I imagine it to be.
