Lay awake in bed from 3AM till 7AM and you finally say whatever screw it and start the day. No aid or detriment of drugs to blame here just biochemistry, mental over stimulation, Circadian rhythms — what a mystery. Morning smells like morning where you are and everywhere it’ll smell this way. Good. Crisp cool and you always feel like you want a hoody. It feels like it just rained.
There’s a printout on the kitchen table saying our gas will be cut off on September 15th due to a $1,446.41 outstanding bill. You have lived here for not even one month and the bill is made out to someone not you nor your roommates nor anyone you’ve ever heard of so you ignore it because its still August for two more days and you need milk.
Run across to the Bodega.
“Morning.” people say to you.
“Morning.” you say in return.
Affirmations passed back and forth. Yes, it is morning. That’s right. Say it out loud and convince yourself.
You suppress the urge to say it’s been morning for over seven hours and the cheery folk are just showing up for the nice parts. Insomniac jealousy, that.
In the bodega the radio plays a station you’ve never tuned into and you remind yourself you’re awake by hearing it now. Oh yeah. Things are going on as if everything fit a definition of normal. The radio is still a real thing. People still use it, for real. Its another reminder like one of those of tearaway day calendars, little disposables to mark the uniqueness of an otherwise pedestrian occurrence.
Something about the word quotidian.
There’s a sort of stomach ache that comes with not getting sleep. Another symptom of insomnia like how caffeine only helps you maintain function rather than boost it, yawning with your mouth wide open and not noticing, itchy eyes, keep stretching limbs.
But that sun can make up for it. The stillness of pre-8am. It’s like your skimming everything as you move through it.
You get back to the kitchen and make breakfast and there’s left over grease and seasoning in the pan but no paper towels so u get added flavor. The sunny side up eggs look like a Dali painting and its gonna be a weird day.
You finish breakfast and you shower you go outside your eyes aren’t sagging too hard yet, non wrinkled clothes, nothings caught up and won’t for a bit still and you just gotta make it to around 6pm to reset your schedule so until then you gotta stay awake, you gotta try and pretend it’s just another day, and now you’re privy to smiles and nods of solidarity:
“Morning.”
“Morning.”