A Work In Progress

Is this a dream?  This has to be a dream.  But dreams…  Dreams don’t feel this real, do they?  Dreams just sort of, happen, without really thinking about it, like you’re watching yourself do it and that’s not really you.  So this, this can’t be a dream.  Because I know this is really me.  Except… This is not me.

Sunday morning, 9:42 A.M.  I need to finish reading Chapter 6 for Economics tomorrow.  Trig homework due Tuesday.  Roomate’s out of town, said he’d be back around dinnertime.  Probably need to stock up on Cherry Coke again.  Boring agenda, normal life; a life that just happens, without me really having to think about it.

The first thing that’s different is when I sit bleary-eyed on the corner of my mattress, the top of my head a few inches shy of the galvanized supporting beam of my roommate’s top bunk.  Dust motes wink at me as they float around in the stale air of my dorm room, glinting off the grey morning light.  That’s not when I notice; I’m too tired to realize that if I’m sitting straight up on the side of my bunk, my head should be hitting that beam.  But it doesn’t.

{I’m going somewhere with this.  Just not yet.  Not today.  Hopefully tomorrow.}


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