This was definitely a couch day.
I awoke to colorful kaleidoscope images growing until the patterns disperse like fireworks in a 4th of July sky behind my eyelids. At the moment of semi-conciousness where my slumber ends and I fill into my body from the dream world far away I am welcomed by these dizzying colors. I open my eyes to try to focus through the fragmented light patterns as they fade into the dimmed sunlight that crosses the foot of my bed.
It's a migraine and vertigo state I have found myself in.
These days are not long, or short. They just are. Malaise and melancholy are states of being that defy time. It's an awareness of pain, confusion and blurred content all at once. It's a brain fog that submerged all thoughts into a dense tangle, leaving me to wonder what I came into rooms to do, or finding myself in front of an open refrigerator with forgotten plans. I wander through these days feeling far away and lonely, as if the physical pain wasn't enough.
I find some kind of solace in the routines I follow for comfort. I settle into my favorite spot on the couch. The familiarity of this spot, of the space that I call home envelopes me. Strangely, these walls feel both confining and soothing. I'm both grateful and resentful for this life.
It's approaching midnight, pulling this day to a close. I stare out the window before making my way to bed. The January sky is a muted glow of heavy clouds, illuminating the bare branches of the trees. Maybe snow? Winter nights feel so hushed and still. I love the way street lamps light the empty streets and glowing windows dot the houses with cozy people inside.
Surely the morning will greet me with a different story than today, a blank narrative for me to influence.
