Morning Glory

"The world always seems brighter when you've just made something that wasn't there before."
- Neil Gaiman


It was 8 am and she hadn't slept all night. Decisions came easily this morning: she arrived home, locked the door and decided to sleep naked. Clothes felt like too much of a burden...much like everything else. There was a scab on her foot, which she tore off painfully and squeezed until there was a shiny red bead of blood. She dried it off and the blood appeared again. It kept bleeding long after it was entertaining. However it didn't seem to bother her. In fact, nothing did. There was a simple, peaceful and almost levitating feel to every thought in her mind. It was unusual. It felt good. Then she realized this was due to the complete lack of sleep. Also she had sushi around midnight which were now presumably rotting in her stomach. Disgusting. For the hundredth time she solemnly promised to attempt vegetarianism again, before realizing how dumb 'promising to attempt' something is.
The clear mind meant that she could focus on one thing at a time and solve problems in a much more productive manner. There was a blissful satisfaction caused by working out even the most insignificant things. This was very refreshing in the light of the usual vortex of worry, mind numbing guilt and disappointment.

She always wanted to write stories of fiction but soon realized that they would all end up to be about her...She was selfishly in love with her own unrealized potential. It made her feel special, like a tortured genius who could achieve so much, but refused to... because...say 'there’s no faith in society' or 'the conditions aren't right' or 'no one will understand or appreciate, so why waste my time'. Of course all of this was bollocks but it was a beautiful illusion, one she often fell into on her daydream journeys.

Somewhere along the way she stopped referring to herself in the third person...suddenly there was a glitch in the easiness of the morning, like a dark rain cloud floating above me. I tell myself that nothing feels happy...obviously! Happiness is a ridiculous thing to strive towards. Success, actual goals, academic achievements, professional development, a rich husband, annual holidays in Palma de Mallorca...these are things to seek in life. Or so I'm told. But I cherish my ability to imagine and reflect, even if it's the only thing I'm good at. There's an island of philosophers. They lay on the beach all day in their long white bed sheets and eat grapes all day, arguing about whether people are born inherently good or bad...or maybe neutral, a blank piece of paper. The eternal question which determines which form of government we deserve...this is their job. To eat grapes and decide our fate. And the common folk feed the pigs and milk the cows and fuck in the sheds and drink until they forget how ordinary they are. I'm not sure which one I am yet. I want to be the philosopher but I act like the commoner. The common people can of course do big things in great numbers, every revolution in history has proven that to us. Maybe there's a lot more shades in the spectrum. There definitely is. I should stop looking at the world in black and white...she decided.

This is the point where she forgot where her point was and realized that there were downsides to this breeziness of thought caused by lack of sleep. So, I will sleep.