Seemingly out of nowhere, the alarm tone pierces through the cocoon of the dream you were wrapped in. More instinctually than consciously, your hand finds the phone and slides to the right to turn it off.
Your head still rested on the cool pillow. It's dark. Only on the wall opposite your bed a small stripe of light falls in from the street lamps outside.
Still in that sweet state between awake and asleep, you try to hold on to the last fragments of the dream, but they escape you, seeping through the grasp of your mind like water.
One more moment, you want that intermezzo to last. That moment where you're still free. Free of expectations, free of memory, and even a sense of self.
It's no use.
The rude reality shakes you out of your lethargy.
The cold air of the room brushes against your feet as you move from below the warmth of the blanket to get up and go through the motions that are your mornings.
Before getting in the shower, you check your phone's screen. Countless notifications lined up. Waiting for you to address them.
A few minutes later, you stand in the kitchen. Outside, daylight is slowly approaching. You enjoy the soft light of the first rays of sun filtered through cotton candy clouds.
The peeping of the boiler rips you out of your moment of zen. You add two spoons of Nescafe to a mug, pour water over it, and then add some milk for good measure.
Even before you open any of the messages, you can feel your stress levels increase.
You look out once again.
A group of construction workers are setting up a fence and readying their machines. One of them stands smoking near the window of a resident, talking to him over the windowsill. You wonder what they are discussing, but from where you're at, it seems, they are at least not having a fight.
Too early for those.
Not too early for the messages awaiting you.
It's not like you enjoy it.
But then, this is what's called work these days.
Equipped with a coffee and an apple, you sit down at your desk. Stare at the screen as it loads up.
Seeing your own reflection until it's faded out by the blue light.
You log into all the platforms. You count. It's 5. Sometimes more depending on whether you need to fill in a report.
Off to the races.
Whenever one message is answered, a new one appears. It's a never-ending game of whack-a-mole.
With each, you feel a little of your sanity leaving you. Are you really human or just a machine that reads and responds? At times, you feel like you're watching yourself from the outside.
An absurd image.
A person zoned in on a screen, typing away. Occasionally sipping from the mug of now cooled off coffee.
The motion becomes automatic. Staring at the screen, deciphering, typing, taking a sip of coffee.
You only snap out of it when you realize that there's no coffee left in your mug, yet you're holding it up against your lips like a pantomime artist.
On your screen, numbers go up and down. New images pop up and disappear.
You look around your room. Nothing has changed. Outside, the world is dipped in full daylight now. The noise has picked up, too, with cars driving past and someone vacuuming in the flat above you.
You decide it's time for a refill and some fresh air. You grab a to-go cup and walk out with it.
The cold wind hits your limbic system, and goosebumps run down your spine.
With quick steps, you start walking around the block. Eventually, the cold makes way for a nice warmth. You stop for a moment and just take in the scene.
Or at least you try to.
Just like yesterday, you conclude, as you watch a lady try to pull her dog away from a pile of trash on the sidewalk.
In your pocket, your phone starts beeping, seeking attention.
As you walk past a river, you're captured by the urge to just throw it in.
Watching it drown - maybe it'd take all that anxiety with it. The relentless staccato of notifications - you envision how it'd slowly turn pizzicato and then, without much of a bang, simply disappear into the depth.
One day, you tell yourself.
But not today.
Thanks for reading. 💚
There's a cool artwork in the local museum that loosely inspired this - on top of my usual struggles with modern work in its abstract form.
