Today is clean and crisp like a freshly starched collar. The colors on the trees have reached their peak and are beginning to wane. Sounds sparkle and echo through the dry fall air with a staccato that sounds more forceful, more definite than the muddled humid air of summer allows. Birds call to one another with a heightened fervency. It is not mere chatter. It is blunt communication sent across the air regarding the location of food and nesting material. It is not the sound of a dinner party conversation, more like like the sound of a gang of sand baggers on a broken levy. Chaotic. Important.
And yet while the world around me fairly crackles with energy and exuberance, I am stuck in my robe, a mere observer to all that is around me. It was a long night and a short sleep. I am having a hard time recovering. Despite the clean, fresh autumn air and bright sun hanging in the sky unabated by cloud, I am swimming through syrup. I am the plodding wounded wildebeest while the rest of the world is a frolicking gazelle.
I have drunk so much coffee in the last 72 hours that the effects are minimal, other than to my stomach which is begging me to stop. I ponder the thought of snorting finely ground beans for just a moment before I take another sip. My septum calls down to my stomach and tells it to deal with the pain, the alternative is much, much worse.
I try to clear a space in my head, sifting through the mental paperwork stacked up derelict in my barely operating memory. What was I to do today? I don't even know. Was it important? It's always important (to everyone but me). I need to get moving. To where and for what? I'll just have to figure that out as I go.
I will to move my stationary body and hope the wood-scented fall air, the bright sun, the blue sky and the promise of the weekend will be enough to snap me out of this fatigue induced funk. After all, there is work out there somewhere that must be done, whether I remember what it is, or not.
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