That precious split second of ignorance
It was a mercifully dreamless sleep that took me late last night. (Or perhaps early hours of this morning, one can never be sure.)
And when I finally awoke, I had that thing that everyone gets from time to time. The thing where you first wake up and for a split second you have absolutely nothing to worry about: The sun is bright; the sky is blue; the birds and the bees are wondering whether or not it is a good time to try out that old adage and see what happens.... you know that thing where everything is relatively normal.
For a split second.
And then it happens. Something ...unpleasant... suddenly washes over you, filling your stomach with insects and crushing your heart with such force it stops pumping, just for a brief moment, and trickles into your throat and eyes till you choke out the first morning's breath.
The unpleasant something is realisation.
To be honest, it usually only happens to me after a night of severe drinking when I've gone above and beyond the call of complete arsehole duty. The morning after the night before. The morning where I'll have a lot of faces to apologise to (or otherwise avoid) in between inspecting the inside of a toilet for previously undiscovered works by Sylvia Plath.
Unfortunately for me, my realisation went beyond drunken misadventure (which, although embarrassing, usually gets forgiven, forgotten and sometimes even retold as amusing anecdotes on later nights out rendering your momentary unpleasantness somehow worth while). The sad truth is that last night I had unexpectedly become single. And it hurt bad.
My eyes had only just adjusted to the light of day when my vision became distorted again by the inevitable salt water. And so I started the day as I had finished the last one, sobbing pathetically into my pillow and wishing it could be any other way but this.
I can't wait for tomorrow morning. I'm going to try and hold on to that split second forever.
And when I finally awoke, I had that thing that everyone gets from time to time. The thing where you first wake up and for a split second you have absolutely nothing to worry about: The sun is bright; the sky is blue; the birds and the bees are wondering whether or not it is a good time to try out that old adage and see what happens.... you know that thing where everything is relatively normal.
For a split second.
And then it happens. Something ...unpleasant... suddenly washes over you, filling your stomach with insects and crushing your heart with such force it stops pumping, just for a brief moment, and trickles into your throat and eyes till you choke out the first morning's breath.
The unpleasant something is realisation.
To be honest, it usually only happens to me after a night of severe drinking when I've gone above and beyond the call of complete arsehole duty. The morning after the night before. The morning where I'll have a lot of faces to apologise to (or otherwise avoid) in between inspecting the inside of a toilet for previously undiscovered works by Sylvia Plath.
Unfortunately for me, my realisation went beyond drunken misadventure (which, although embarrassing, usually gets forgiven, forgotten and sometimes even retold as amusing anecdotes on later nights out rendering your momentary unpleasantness somehow worth while). The sad truth is that last night I had unexpectedly become single. And it hurt bad.
My eyes had only just adjusted to the light of day when my vision became distorted again by the inevitable salt water. And so I started the day as I had finished the last one, sobbing pathetically into my pillow and wishing it could be any other way but this.
I can't wait for tomorrow morning. I'm going to try and hold on to that split second forever.