Sometimes I like to sit and watch dust particles float in rays of sunlight. The activity is relaxing since no demands are made of my scant mental faculties or the muscles rusty from lack of movement. I do not even have to shift my eyes. The dust particles just float there, seemingly phasing in and out of reality as they do in my perception. I have been feeling much the same lately.
Almost as if I tried standing on the tips of my toes and hopping a bit - a tiny nudge off the floor, really - I would stay in the air. Hanging in the balance, I like to say.
Time is different in the balance. Hours pass in minutes. I count one dust speck at 5 and end up at 2. I blink. When all becomes silent sans for the whirl of the 4-inch desk fan I take everywhere, reality slams into me. The realization of my passiveness pulls my heart from my throat to my toes, rooting me in prickly horror. Or it is shame?
It gets cloudy and my one means of entertainment dissipates. I lead a life of worry. Worry worry worry. I do not sleep because I think of all the worries, adding more to the pot. Turn it a bit., lower the heat. Just a bit more salt. For flavour.
I got worries and I can't sleep. I can't sleep 'cause I got worries. I need to sleep 'cause I need to wake up tomorrow and deal with all these worries worrying me. It's 2 going on 3. Soon it'll be 4 going on Time to get the fuck up, Johnny.
I close my eyes and imagine that there is a ray of sunlight filled with many many particles of dust right before my eyes.
And I phase out of reality.