rejectomorph | 52/246-247: Through the Dark, Darkly

Saturday I got to do my least-favorite thing twice, namely to wake up in darkness. The first time I didn't remember when I'd gone to bed, and didn't remember the previous day, so I looked at the phone clock and it said somewhere around 7:30 Saturday, and it seemed too dark to be morning, so I believed I had slept through the entirety of an utterly forgotten Saturday. A short time later the light began to grow outside, and I realized it was only Saturday morning, so dark because we are near the end of daylight saving time.

So I lived through Saturday after all, and still didn't remember it when it was over, except that I'd gotten up too early and so had to have an afternoon nap, and that nap lasted until after nightfall, so I got to wake up in the dark again. After the second nap I started fixing a big dinner, which wasn't done until after midnight, and I ate it and became stuffed and logy, which I remain even now. Oh, there was some rain early in the morning, and there is some rain now, But in between was only sad anticipation and regret. Or maybe that's just what my brain thought during the times it was running aimlessly in its hamster wheel. Does it matter? Probably not. Probably nothing does, and I've just worn myself out and need to sleep yet again.

Didn't I used to be able to string together words coherently? Maybe I just imagined it. Maybe I dreamed it. Maybe if I sleep now I'll dream it again. Better than nothing, I guess.

Sunday Verse

Sleep

by Fernando Pessoa

I'm so sleepy it hurts to think.
So sleepy. Sleeping is for man
What waking is for the animals.

It's to live life unconsciously,
The way animals live on life's surface.
It's to be, unawares, my profound being.

Perhaps I'm sleepy for having touched
The spot where I feel the animal I shunned,
And sleep is a memory I found.