2013-10-12

Friday at noon

Here I sit

The cat is on my lap. I have made tea so sweet it should set my hair on fire and have me running around the block.

I am sitting here

The cat is licking herself. It is a reminder of the survival mechanisms built into us. We eat, we sleep, we wash ourselves.

I am drinking tea

The nutritional value of my tea heavily favors simple carbohydrates, but we do need calories. The fundamental need of the machine is energy to keep it going.

I cannot refill my cup

The cat has gone to sleep. if I move she will wake up. She might even leave. Her presence is more important than the machine"s need for energy, at least for the moment. The muscles tensed to keep me sitting and the movement of my fingertips don’t strain its resources. There are still energy reserves to do dip into.

I do not move

The heat of the cat seeps through the blanket that covers my legs. I have slid down the chair until I am almost laying down and I have covered myself with that against the chill in the room. My legs rest on a stool. My thighs bridge the gap between chair and stool. The cat sleeps on the bridge, as if bridges donnot collapse.

The air is pressing down on me

The cat stirred as the other cat climbed into my lap. Their relationship is undecided. For a moment I thought they might both leave, but instead the other cat squeezed in between the armrest, the first cat and my arm. She might lay her head on the flank on the first cat, but right now she is purring in the snug place she made for herself.

I have things to do

I had an appointment this afternoon, but when I called to cancel I was told it was not until Tuesday next week. The second cat seems to be sleeping now too, her cheek against the rump of the first cat; her purring is barely audible. The first cat twitches. Maybe she is dreaming of the bridge collapsing.

I am beginning to ache

My neck and lower back are stretched into the hook of an f. My legs are crossed under the cat, both hips being pulled out of alignment. My right hand is going numb from resting too high on the armrest while typing. The ache is spreading. When I get up I will have trouble walking.

I will not be getting up

When I get up I will have to
  • work,
  • call my physiatrist,
  • bring out the accordion and enjoy playing,
  • enjoy writing a blog,
  • write an agenda for the meeting that might mean the beginning of am upwardbound career.

I do not deserve to get up

When I get up I need to edit my brother&quit;s exam paper, because I promised, and because I want him to get a good grade, and because I enjoy it.
When I get up I should go to my neighbors and invite them over for apple pie.
When I get up I should figure out where I can get absinth and ingredients for traditional herb flavored liquer. I should look up some traditional drinking songs and invite some other neighbors to share.

Im not really sitting here

My aches are somewhere in the background. They become district from each other only when I reach into myself. The cats are only weights until look at them. Then I hear the purr, and feel how the first cat is pressing down painfully on my knee. i feel their body heat. I remember the softness of their fur, but I do donnot touch them. They would wake up. There would be jostling, maybe leaving.

I am not sitting here

I am not really sitting here. I feel my body only when I make an effort to. I don’t hear the noises around me unless they are sudden. If I listen I hear the soft hum of cars, of planes passing overhead. I hear a wet noise of expelled air coming from the tank in my toilet. I hear scratching noises that I cannot identify. I hear cardoors slam, and the turning off keys. I hear the everpresent hiss in my brain. I hear my finger sliding over the screen as I type. I hear the squeek of birds. and the rustle of my hair against the back of the chair.

Let me stay here for a moment

For twenty minutes I listened to the sounds. Water rushing through pipes, the infernal struggle in the toilet. I listened to my slow jagged in breath and the ocean smooth breath out. I participated in some of the conversations in my head. I wondered why being lost in the sound of the crickets is more present then being lost in my thoughts.

I am here

No matter how I try everything I do takes me away from here.

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