It’s Monday morning and I woke up 11 minutes before my alarm. A win.
Getting out of bed isn’t too difficult. It’s cold, but not enough for me to wear warm socks. My cat is dosing at the foot of my bed, and I pet him on my way to open the door.
The living room is lit up with soft, grey morning light. It’s quiet, inside and outside the house, even though we live in the city.
I pad on quiet feet to our little kitchen. I refill the kettle, the soft shhh of the water the only sound besides the distant honking outside.
I turn it on. Blue light from the kettle breaks through the early morning colorlessness. For a moment, I stand and watch as the water starts to boil. My cat makes his way into the kitchen on soft paws, pauses, and slowly stretches his back.
The house is quiet but not empty. I have two roommates, both still enjoying their sleep as the world around us wakes up. I like this time of the morning. It’s a liminal space and none of my thoughts have any weight yet. Time isn’t real yet.
The tea bag makes its way into the cup, and then the sugar. Finally, water and milk. Soft vapors drift over my face and I close my eyes to the heat.
I pick up my mug, take a small sip of tea, and make my way to my bedroom. My bed is pushed up against one wall and my desk is on the other. It’s still quiet inside. No one is moving but me.
It’s here that I think about dying.
It’s not a serious thought. I wouldn’t put a gun to my head or swallow a handful of pills. The desire isn’t strong enough to cause any sort of violent action. But I do think about it, about how it would maybe allow me to stay in this liminal space a little longer.
Nothing bad happens here. I wake up to normal mornings, where I have normal breakfasts, sit at my desk, and do normal work. I make enough money to make it through the month and I have friends to laugh with in the afternoon. I get to choose the food I eat and go to bed when I want. I can go to the movies, meet new people, have crazy love affairs on a whim, and do all the things I dreamt of as a kid.
But instead, I pick up my phone and move to my bed, where I lie down. The phone’s glow slowly becomes the only point of light as my room darkens until everything is dark and quiet again. Still, it’s normal. There is nothing sinister in the shadow and I can leave my door open without fear.
It’s in the shower, with the mirror fogged up and my reflection ambiguous, that I start to dream about changing my life. Tomorrow, I’ll get fit. I’ll put my phone away and spend my time reading like I used to. It’ll get healthy and put out enough content to get my name known and gain some recognition. I’ll swim in hotel pools and say my country’s name with pride so that others can support our creatives. I won’t think about money anymore and I’ll wake up without needing that liminal space.
After my shower, I rush to my room, where I make lists and strategies for getting to the top. It makes so much sense and it feels so easy. For a few hours, my heart is beating again.
I get into bed, determined.
I wake up. It’s Tuesday morning. I woke up 14 minutes before my alarm. I’m already on a winning streak.
I get up, and the weather is fine. I pet my cat and make my way to the kitchen, where I put water in the kettle and watch the blue light and bubbling water. My cat joins me and we quietly watch the city come alive. It feels so far away.
I think of death again. It’s soft and comforting, and it’s sad too. Hopeless and hopeful.
Back at work, I do what I need to and not a thing more, before picking up my phone and getting on my bed.
The gray afternoon turns into night, and my Tuesday is gone.
This is peace. It’s everything I ever wanted. Nothing bad happens here. And yet.
Leave a Reply