Mind Wanders

Everything seems unsettled. This week seems to exist outside the perameters of reality; an alternate dimension, where nothing quite makes sense. Rules seem flexible, schedules seem amorphous, things are floating, breathing, rising and falling in their own paces,
without me
without my hand.
My hands.
They feel idle and brittle, shaking and uncertain. My grip is lax and minimal on the objects I grasp. Glasses. Is this water or wine?
Pills. Are these red or blue?
Money. Is this real? Does it matter?
A tiny bacterium nested in my stomach. The status quo is altered. Pills and chemicals scribbled on green paper, folded neatly and shoved down my esophagus. Synapses widen. Organs respond. Tears about nothing, laughing at silence, doors locked but windows open. I cannot settle!

Mind wanders.

This skull houses wads of silly putty. It oozes from side to side, occasionally nestling against a crevice to take on it's shape, if only temporarily. Crevices that create mounds. Irritants. Jagged edges. Discoordination. Serated blades that catch in your hair.

Have I been biting my cheek all night? Whose blood is this?

I am a system, I am a machine, I intake and produce. Everything is scrutinized, weighed, measured, evaluated. These decisions are heavy and numerous and frequent.
Every breath is a choice. What will I breathe in?

My head. My head feels long and escaping. These pores have failed me. These guards are sleeping on duty.
The phone is ringing again. There is someone at the door. Someone needs something. Someone is hungry or lonely or intoxicated. Some emotion somewhere walks into a party. He has a martini and introduces himself to money. They sleep together and regret it forever.

Can you really befriend that which rules you? Do relationships ever really end?
The end of one, the start of one, an event, an e-mail, a porch, a glass, a sandwich, a document in my mailbox. Who planned this party for Wednesday afternoon. Whose handwriting is this? Where is my mind? I left it in this drawer by the pistachios and painkillers.

Caffeine. Nicotine. Alcohol. Marijuana. Barbituates. Benzos. Sex. Ice. Air. Water. Solar energy. Pizza.
Who is on the guest list? Does this party end? Someone, please, flip the breaker. There's a man in my house and he won't leave. There's a man in my house but he isn't there.

But we get up anyway. We brush our teeth, we open the curtains. Light reflects dust. Morning exposes evening. We do our dance, sometimes the Shuffle. A made bed is a clear mind. Tight shoelaces mean business. I am never out of contact. I am never unavailable. I am the most reliable person in the whole universe. I answer my phone on Mars.

I'll check in. I'll retweet. I'll update, respond, resend, rescind, reskin. This silly putty pulls levers and flesh obeys. It is weak and melting. It houses chaos. These lions should fight to the death in a cage under a shroud. You will hear the ferocity, and the whimpers, and the pure pure pure fear.

Listen and wait.
Admire it's purity. Shut off four senses.

Allow me to introduce myself. I am the man in your house who does not exist.
I am the ghosts of beginnings and endings. I am a frightened bird, a ferocious lion, a pepperoni, a vaccuum cleaner, a marionette making sandwiches. I have spread myself thin enough to carpet a sunny porch, a sanitorium. Walk upon me and do not look at your feet.

I am harried and crying and all of the streetlights are too bright. I am smiling and relieved and the hardwood floor is familiar. I am walking and it's raining and I break down to call him. I am unsure until I realize I have been staring at a wall for hours. I am angry that it did not speak.

I live in jars and bottles and boxes and pots. Walk through this landscape, against waterfalls of lime and tonic, springs of gin, boulders of chemically hardened powder, green beans that squirm in the sunlight, a floor of fibers and it's all my hair.

It's unsightly. It's itchy. It's weak. It's medicated. It's crying. It's trying and trying and trying and trying.
It's a matter of weeding and tending, picking and choosing, and every decision is the biggest decision of your entire life, because it affects your right now. Right now, right now is all that matters.

And the decisions are heavy and numerous and frequent.
And every breath is a choice.
What will I breathe in?