14 October, 1998

Teacup

The fatigue has grown, crescendoed and finally taken so fully hold of me that I no longer know where "I", me, begins, middles or ends. There is only the dimness of perception filtered through pain: aching eyes, aching head, stiff neck. The rest of my body feels like it's missing. I am nothing more than a disembodied head, over-perceiving in the glare of the morning light.

Behind me, the road roars, the construction site clatters and the sun screams in a too-blue sky, which I would otherwise have thought beautiful.

In frustration at my unfocussed, un-delineated state, I pump up the music. Floods of Billy Idol, the swooping synthesizer stuff from the '80s which whirls into my ears and somehow magically, is providing a framework, easing the jumbled tumble of misfired impulses in my brain. I can see the screen again, just as the Lotus Notes Mail chime interrupts my typing. I grit my teeth at the hated sound and click over to see what needs to be done.

Another upload later I am thinking fondly of tea. Celestial Seasonings' Sleepytime, to be precise.

The box sits on my desk, right next to the phone where I can reach for its creature comfort at any time. The cozy bears on the avocado green background grin up at me comofortingly and smile myself, an involuntary reaction as fleeting childhood memories of hot tea cups and saltines dunked in milky tea slip through my business-day mindset.

I hit the repeat play button on the CD-player and turn the volume down a notch. Curling my fingers around my tea mug, I wander off down the hall in search of hot water and think about writing.