It’s hard to keep my eyes open.
I blink and remember where I am. The ground is pulling forward and the sky is pulling back. Seconds, as I was once knew them, trudged through them, no longer hold their weight, like all things in free fall.
You have a lot of time to think when there’s not much time left, and seemingly all things vast and important dwindle down into next to nothing. It’s like when people who’ve lived long lives tell you how it all goes by so fast. My theory is that you only have a certain amount of life in you and you can choose to spread it thin over a lengthy lifetime, or you can squeeze it so tight that it scrambles to fill what you have left.
The world around me is bustling – no better word for it. Nonstop rat-racing from one shithole to the next, and you get pension. People flashing bright lights at each other and burning the midnight candles not realizing they’re trading their lives for the time they think they’re wasting.
My hair feels pasted back against the top of my head. I don’t remember gelling it this morning and I don’t remember telling my mother goodbye.
I used to dive under the water in swimming pools. I’d let out just enough air so I would sink to the bottom and float damn near weightless. I felt real freedom for a moment, liberated from the crushing pressures of thought and life and godliness. Free, I guess, from the pressures that etched my body into what it was. There was no past, no future, just that submerged, blue silence that filled your ears. And then your breath ran out and these jellyfish sacs of used air raced you to the surface where you were plunged back into the light.
I blink slowly. The ground rises.