It’s not even easy to get up anymore, for whatever reason. There was a reason, but that reason has eroded into something unrecognizable over time, a whatever reason. But I do get up eventually. I feel like part of me is still asleep as if my consciousness was dough being portioned out. While drinking my morning coffee and looking out the window I notice a lone figure standing at the corner. I am immediately transfixed by their image, but cannot for the life of me figure out why.  The sun is bright outside yet the air is stale. The phone rings.

The next morning I’ve stretched out into the kitchen and rummage through the refrigerator for the half covered plates I’ve left behind all week. Re-heating the disgruntled assembly of left overs amplifies its blandness. I can’t figure out how to avoid that. Coffee however, helps to keep the poor facsimile of food down. I take my cup to the window and look outside. The figure is there again and once I see them, I am jolted by the realization that I expected them to be there. A cigarette hangs from between the fingers of their right hand. I can’t tell from here but I don’t believe its even lit. A day like this you’d think there’d be more people out, but it’s just the lone figure. The phone rings.

Settling into myself is the worst part of the of the day. I’m eating the food as best I can, keeping a straight face. I am terrified to outwardly acknowledge the notion that there is something out-of-place. Part of me knows that tempting it further would manifest it as a reality. For now I’ve resigned something is off, but its an uncertainty I refuse to embrace. A reality that is questionable and thus can be ignored. It’s been like this for so long anyway, its hard to remember the feeling I’ve presumed at times to be missing. Outside, the figure is back again. Watching them from here, I wonder if maybe all of this is normal. My skin is supposed to feel like foam insulation, my mind is supposed to be floating in muddied waters thick enough to pass for silt. I can’t know for sure, yet I can’t shake the impression that it’s unnatural. The phone rings.

Another morning, shoveling in bite after bite without hesitation or consideration for the contents. My mind bobs through its swamp past half-sunken rusted memories. Things that would still be shiny if I had the focus and determination to keep up with them. Some I can hardly recognize; a bicycle handle maybe that could just as easily be the end of a pole or perhaps a broken ironing board. I can’t get close enough to bring it out clearly. Other Moments that perhaps should never have been abandoned are too big to sink completely in the murky shallows. Their resolve unmoved, they remain as bleak testaments to past negligence. Outside the same figure is by the street. The phone is ringing, but its muffled now. All my focus is on the figure at the corner, cigarette hardly in hand like their taking it for a walk rather than intending to smoke it. I can’t catch their eyes, but it’s the same person. I’m sure of it.