Of finding something again



I just sleep.

I sleep to rest, to be away from the world that has given me so much and that I am not a part of anyway, to reset, to die. If only for a while. 

I wake up and look at my phone, as all of us do now. The world painfully worlds, with no pauses and preambles: it elbows you in the face with all its glory, its vapid bitches, and all the iterations of the Andrew Tates of humankind. In everything we have a choice, save for one: this world. It is the ultimate given, the ultimate, ungentle, fact, and that we are in it. It doesn't stop. It can't; it doesn't have to.

Immediately upon waking I close my eyes and dive deep into the recesses of whatever that was young that's left of me to desperately hunt for reserves of a desire to get up from bed, to work, to be. Two days ago I joked with my lover that I had been tired since 1984, and I think I mean it. 

If not for him and another friend that gave me the time of the day in the MMORPG that I returned to, I would have rotted so completely as to be indistinguishable. In it I spent a few days being a guild leader, and felt all the glorious stress coming from corralling individuals whose motivations for playing are as diverse as all of insectdom. I don't know why I created a guild to begin with. Maybe for the screaming desire to be necessary? To be seen? To be called (I did miss being called "Madam")? To do something, anything, that would get me out of myself, my day, my life?

I did say to my ex once, "You take yourself with you everywhere you go. All the time, you are the problem." Sometimes I forget that I said it. I forget a lot of things. I forget that I have friends. I forget that I am loved. I forget who I am. I forget so completely that entire segments of my life have never happened.

It is in these times when my lover calls me, by my name, and tells me to stop crying and come home. Sometimes it's enough. Sometimes I tell myself to kneel in resignation, to bury my dead, and then just get the fuck up. I have feet. I have feet.

Sometimes I shout in my head a prayer, the only one I know, the only one I can manage, and the only one I can mean: Lord Universe, please, somebody help me this final time, and I shall make everything right once again.

Sometimes it grants me that prayer, usually subtly, enough for me to get out of bed, be grateful, be. 

And sometimes everything just disappears.

I just sleep.


Image credit: https://unsplash.com/photos/woman-in-black-dress-lying-on-gray-couch-aZgxRlaa5Z0

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