Floating…

Try­ing to pull off the cob­webs of sleep, left­over from the long and spine-scraping week­end. When Iryna is sick, the whole world is off-kilter. Sleep was the first sac­ri­fice. Yes­ter­day, a nice “day off”, was con­founded by an over­taxed ner­vous sys­tem and a rogue stub­born­ness dae­mon that encour­aged me, through deli­cious whis­pered promises, to bang my head against the walls and book­shelves. Cof­fee, while tasty, was furtive and ret­i­cent to lend a help­ing hand, pre­fer­ring to nes­tle qui­etly some­where in the more saurian parts of my brain– kept my heart beat­ing, but that’s about all. I guess, in ret­ro­spect, that *that* was still pretty use­ful, and I am grate­ful, but when your hopes are for heaven while your body drags on the earth, that is a sub­tle form of hell.

Now, we (the dai­mon, the cof­fee gnome, the white noise ghosts, and the shadows-of-promise) are left with a dis­em­bod­ied feel­ing. Like a dream where you don’t notice you’re float­ing until you start try­ing to walk, and then you look down to see your feet ped­al­ing use­lessly in the air, a few feet above the ground. Good Morning.