Perspective
I just found myself staring out the window for who knows how long. I had the most bizarre perception during that time. At first, it seemed the window was nothing more than a television screen showing me these one dimensional images of a world untouchable.
Someone in the parking lot across the retention pond was circling in their silver Honda. A white van was driving off. Traffic was passing on Route 83. The gray clouds and occasional snowflake added to the misery of it all. Cold, wet pavement. Yellowed grass, frosted over in patches with snow. Naked tree branches just peeking over into my line of sight. Naked trees in the distance; lifeless and almost gray themselves.
My perspective then changed, and it was not a one dimensional world in my eyes. It was real. But, my breathing felt labored; even though I am sure it was quite normal. I felt my eye lids heavy as they stared into the passing time almost comatose. The window was no longer a television screen; it was a wall. A barrier. I was in a fish bowl.
The world outside was three dimensional, but I am not allowed to reach it. If I tried, my hand would hit the cold, flat glass. The look of misery actually supplied by the tint of the shaded window. I am a prisoner. I am slowly dying. Movements are heavy; even as I try to lift my hand to my face.
I am staring into space, completely unproductive. Am I even alive. Closing my eyes feels so good. Such relief.
Straightening my spine brings forth a series of crackles and pops. My fingers feel too loose to make fists. Breathing is too much work.
There is nothing in here. There is nothing out there. Stupid philosophical bullshit.
Someone in the parking lot across the retention pond was circling in their silver Honda. A white van was driving off. Traffic was passing on Route 83. The gray clouds and occasional snowflake added to the misery of it all. Cold, wet pavement. Yellowed grass, frosted over in patches with snow. Naked tree branches just peeking over into my line of sight. Naked trees in the distance; lifeless and almost gray themselves.
My perspective then changed, and it was not a one dimensional world in my eyes. It was real. But, my breathing felt labored; even though I am sure it was quite normal. I felt my eye lids heavy as they stared into the passing time almost comatose. The window was no longer a television screen; it was a wall. A barrier. I was in a fish bowl.
The world outside was three dimensional, but I am not allowed to reach it. If I tried, my hand would hit the cold, flat glass. The look of misery actually supplied by the tint of the shaded window. I am a prisoner. I am slowly dying. Movements are heavy; even as I try to lift my hand to my face.
I am staring into space, completely unproductive. Am I even alive. Closing my eyes feels so good. Such relief.
Straightening my spine brings forth a series of crackles and pops. My fingers feel too loose to make fists. Breathing is too much work.
There is nothing in here. There is nothing out there. Stupid philosophical bullshit.