It’s a Wednesday morning in January and for the first time in weeks my first waking thoughts aren’t ones of misery. For once, my sleep deep and still, entangled deeply in the jungles of dreams which I can recall almost none of, except for the feeling of hiding behind large slabs of cement. Instead of loitering in bed, like I’m usually want to do, I’m spring-loaded from my sleep and kiss the cheek of the atmosphere. I’m here, and today, at least, I’m actually alive. It’s hard to tell when I might become a ghost once more, so for now I enjoy the presence of it all.
I brew tea and lay on the dirty carpet beside my cat to watch a rabbit scavenge the backyard weeds. Behind the glass of the backdoor, we can both pretend we’re more than indoor versions of ourselves. I’ve seen my cat hunt before, she would never catch this rabbit. But behind the glass, she already has once, twice, and again and again satisfying the pleasure spot of her imagination. I drink my tea. I consider what version of me stands outside that glass. Like me today, she would have energy and a mind unstuck with static, but the feeling would last across her days and weeks and years. Her skin is clear because she’s never gone to bed without washing her face, and her gums a healthy pink and exactly where they should sit on her braces-staightened teeths. I run my tongue over my own gums: swollen. I haven’t even brushed them yet this morning. Another one of my constant mind loops, never knowing when it’s appropriate to brush my teeth. In the mornings, I need food and beverage as quickly as I can consume, feeling depleted and withered from the night. So I can’t brush them right away. But, typically in a hurry, I like to canister hot coffee for the go. Should I brush my teeth? Then, on the commute, I won’t be able to reach for my routine warmth and sugar. I could drive to my destination cold and without comfort, my teeth clean and breathe so fresh I worry it might freeze against my lips.