There was a threshold that nature thrived upon. It was the early morning moment, before most people on this side of the world (or that), wake up. There is a distinct shift from when it went from last night to this morning.
At the age of 20, I started waking up in that exact moment. Not some of the time. Not only on Mondays or Tuesdays, the days that reminded me most of death and disappointment, but each and every day, I sat up and wondered whether I was capable of moving forward. And so I anxiously sat there in my bed, clutching a book I had no intention of reading, holding the glasses I loathed, until I saw a murky light, some Fata Morgana of the day ahead, and I decided to put it all in focus.
Uncertainty made me uneasy, which made me uncomfortable and predictable at the same time--which was ironic because the last thing uncertainty should have led to was redundancy. I let my fear get the better half of me, the half that was willing to get out of bed and do something about it.
With a rotting and yellowed pillow between my back and the wall, I drank up all the green elixir I could and I talked myself into being an ailing soul. That's exactly what I was.
Self inflicted.
Or self afflicted.
Unwilling to call my time of death as anything but 4:49 this morning--
or 4:49 last evening.
If you think you know the exact moment of your demise I suggest you change course and not go outside. Here's hoping one has the ability to dodge the bullets fired at us!!!!!!
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