I hover over my desktop. I tinker on it from sundown to sunrise. I’m fascinated with the screen — anything that catches my attention, I click on it. I’m cautious and careless with the time. 3:10 AM. Still plenty of it, but there’s not much to do. My growing pile of books mocks me on my right. At my back. There’s one on my lap. Dostoevsky — 5 months in and I’m not halfway.
I rub my fingers out of habit. Can I feel the callousness of my own palm? I’m not sure. I’ve had this question since 4th grade. I have 2 windows open. 8 in one, Netflix, Vikings, and Travis Fimmel in the other. 3:14 AM. It took me 4 minutes to get here.
Past 4:30 AM my dad will emerge out of the family room. To cook. We call it a family room because anyone in the house can sleep in it. I don’t have one of my own. I used to. My brother has it. And his girlfriend. And their daughter. Kaela. A fiesty almost-two-year-old. Fat.
Past 5 AM I’ll still be wide awake. Caught in a Wiki hole maybe. Stalking. Ignoring my client’s job request on Skype. Feeling whatever it is I’m bound to feel. Whoever’s programming my feelings from the 5th dimension likes me to be fleeting. I’ll cry maybe. Not unprovoked. Maybe because I’ll look something up.
3:20 AM. 4 hours and 40 minutes ’til I sleep. Sunlit mornings are the comfiest. I’ll be in bed. But not before I endure grunts and wake up calls. It’s a Friday. Not much of a torture for my siblings. My sister — at 13 — sleeps roughly 5 hours a night. 13. How and when do you say when a thing is torture?
Past 8 AM I’ll struggle to stay awake. There’s still much more to see on the internet. A horrifying, yet wonderful tool. Did you know shrimps could see colors we don’t know of? Then I’ll crave seafood, damn myself, and muster all my willpower to remain in bed.
I do all these on a regular basis. Because I stopped caring about going to econ, algebra, media law, and I forgot the other one. What am I gonna get? Other than my impending doom, I don’t really know.
I’ll close my eyes. 10 seconds tops. Open it again to check for notifications. Why do I do it? Everyone will still be asleep. Except for me. The curtains will brighten against a yellow backdrop. Welcome, rays of the sun. They seem to have a pull. The heat will eventually caress me. Coax me into hiding. I love it. The sunlight. Just the right amount of it in the room.
REM will start. I’ll know I’m dreaming. I love lucidly dreaming. In the dream, traveling to the sun is possible. There’s plenty of sunlight. Everywhere you want it to be. Wish it on Pluto. Sunlight. Growing flowers. Mint. I’ll chew on mint while I fly towards anywhere.
I’ll wake up around 11 AM. I unintentionally taught my body to do that regularly. I’ll feel around for my phone. Squint. Reply. Share. Like. Check if he’s unblocked me. No. Well. Does sunlight fuel anger more and more as the days stretch on?
My brain — the poor thing — will wake up. Nice, clocked in 3 hours. My eyes — the most insufferable organs of my body — will protest. Stinging. If I was blind would I be a morning person? Maybe not. How does Stevie Wonder know when it’s time to start the day? No, how did Helen Keller do it?
Sunlight brings everything to clear view. Because I know no other than repression, I use it to let me hide. There’s a lot you can run into in broad daylight. Will I ever be ready? Yes. Maybe. If my stupid eyes could just stop stinging.
Vampires. I am one! Is this because I felt cool with my dark fiction, Night World books in my adolescence? The Volturi — Bella Swan is defiant of them — will laugh at my face. Why? They’re the vampires who can walk out in the sun. Glitter like disco balls. Stephenie Meyer hasn’t really answered my 10-yr-old email. I like Twilight.
I’ll go back to sleep. The rest on my side of the planet will go on about. Doesn’t matter if I sleep while they do. I’ll get the glimpses when I check Instagram later.
I’ll finally wake up and get out of bed. 30 minutes before the sun sets. Or 20. 10. It’s like I’m sharing this long distance relationship with it. Never really meeting at a convenient time. It hasn’t gone really. But it’s nowhere in sight already. Oh dang. Are you sure I overslept again?
I’ll feel like I’ll be sinking then. I’m sure of that now. It’s the only consistency I’ve ever felt in my life. Though I didn’t partake during the day, I’ll be in sync with the sun. As the sun will dip, so will my enthusiasm. There goes another day. Everyone will ease up and get ready for dinner. What shall I have for breakfast?
4:01 AM. My ass bones are in pain. I’m excited — and horrified — at the possibility of getting into bed earlier. Eh.
By 7 PM I’ll be fully alive. With a 3-day-old shirt. Oiled to the bone but completely in my element. My phone will buzz. Hey, a job order! Will it gladden me to know my client is working while the sun rises on his side? Would it be inappropriate to ask if it’s sunny in Delaware, at 7 AM? How much of the sun do you need to start the day, sir?
I’ll have him wait ’til I work on the project. I’ll have to tidy up. Change underwear. Conduct a sniff test on my blouse. If it’s still good, great. Conserve water.
How will I feel? Sunlight — my elusive muse, my 5th grade crush, my tender lover — now gone. Not forever. Duh. Silly concept.
What will I feel? Hopelessness? Gluttony? An annoying urge to wax?
Beats me.
Then I hover over my desktop.
