Thought
It's Sunday, and it's quiet. Hell Week starts tomorrow for a lot of students. All my projects and tests have been already finished (I turn in one paper tomorrow, but that's that.)
It's really quiet. [taps head] Up here too. My brain's not yelling at me to do stuff right now.
I woke up at 9:30 this morning, after dreaming about being trapped on an ocean liner filled with zombies with Russ. We made it off, in case you're wondering. I knocked around my room for about a half-hour then went back to sleep. 1:45PM rolled around, and I still haven't completely woken up.
I'm thinking, "It's been an incredible year." For so many reasons. For all the good things, for all the bad things, for all the moments I wished I had disappeared, all the moments I wished the world would disappear, and for all the moments I wish time didn't disappear so fast.
I'm thinking, "I should be doing work now." But there isn't any for me to do right now. I've run out into an open clearing from the tangle of the woods, and am finding I liked the claustrophobia better.
I'm thinking, "Maybe I should've gone to the cafeteria this morning." I haven't eaten all day yet.
I'm thinking, "My fingernails need trimming." I trimmed them three days ago, though.
As I'm trimming my fingernails again, I'm thinking, "I wish I didn't have a hearing impairment." When I try to continue the train of thought, it goes no further than that statement. I've already disregarded it as brain-garbage.
For no reason at all, I'm thinking of how it'd feel to be a soldier in WWI, trapped in the trenches. And then of how it'd feel to lie in grassy fields in Holland. And now of walking down an empty cell block in an abandoned penitentiary. Flying over the open ocean. Falling down an open well. Leaning up against a dark brick wall in the bad end of town. Driving a car fast down a desert highway in the middle of the day. Sitting on the edge of the Grand Canyon. Standing on the coast of Bikini Atoll while the A-bomb is going off. Wrapped in the arms of my favorite girl, under a big tree, shaded from the sun by a million too-green leaves. Walking down Grand River in pouring, cats-and-dogs rain. Standing on top of Big Ben at night, looking out on all the little dots of light. Floating in space, watching all the lights across the world blink on and out and never turning back on again.
I'm thinking of how it'd feel to be able to watch the whole world go to sleep. Immediately after, I'm thinking of walking through snow.
Snow up to my knees, but it's not cold. The sun's out and bright and blinding me with its reflection off the white surfaces everywhere. When I look behind me, I'm not leaving any footprints. The snow is pristine, unbroken, and perfect. It's soft and fluffy, but with a crunchy top layer that makes a satisfying sensation when my boots punch through it. Little curls of snow wisp up around my ankles with every step. In the distance, a bear is in the stream.
I wonder.
Where did this little plum pit of anxiety, trapped in my stomach, come from? I just now noticed it. And it's bothering me.
I think I need to stop thinking now.
