Before I opened my eyes, I was thinking of the rice that I left out on the stove. I was thinking of my friend, and her boyfriend, and the argument they had, and if they could speak more gently, and if it would help them. I was thinking about walking, about how I should walk more, about my shoes, if they only kept out the rain. I was thinking about my work, and the problems there, and how they each might be resolved, inventing resolutions that could never take place, resolutions that made use of laws that do not exist.

I am always dong that, in the space between waking, and opening my eyes - turning unsolvable problems over and over in my mind until they melt from the heat and turn to new problems. 

The morphing list of unsolvable undefinable challenges continues until my mind wakes enough to catch itself in the act, again. 

This morning I opened my eyes to a problem I had never even considered. 

I can't say that I gasped. Actually, I don't know what I did, because my awareness of my own body vanished. I entered a state of supreme unselfconsciousness - for me, this is an extreme and rare condition. 

The light was different, I should have noticed that before I opened my eyes, maybe I did, maybe that is what brought a final halt to my thoughts. 

It was like the whole world was dilated, like the pupil of the sun had burst open, and without eyelids, could not suppress its own blinding eruption of searing light.

I squinted, I do think I squinted. 

And it all changed. A reverse explosion. An implosion? A blink? Is there an eyelid? As though all this time the earth has been sleeping. As though it had just woken. As though the sun, watching over all this time, breathing life into its dreaming child, had just spoken.

And the light, now, softer, more white. 

It beams down on everything like sheaves of comprehension. 

As though while we have spent our lives not looking at the sun, it, finally, 

is looking back at us. The loneliness of the dream state, where each of us travels again and again in our own private universe, how it falls away at realities gentlest touch. 

So the loneliness of that giant old dream, separate form the sun, from the earth, a lonely cell not able to feel its part in the body, it fell away just as easily. I see you now, and I feel you. I hear you, through the sun, with its infinite touch. We are inside the same other dream, all together now, and your hurt is my pain. 

On the pillow to a nursery rhyme

I bump my head seven fold

So I'll sleep soft and rise on time

To changed weather bright and fine

Just like my dear old granny told. 

You know I love her witchy wiles

Well the weather it has changed

And to the sun I rise and smile

Like l've not done for a while

Just like it was all arranged. 

Wait! Have I passed this way before?

I ask myself while rubbing eyes

I'm in a strange bed, and more

I can't say who beside me snores

These facts are a big surprise. 

Rise and smile old granny said

Take it like a man and grin

Now I'll bump less hard my head

Try a different rhyme instead

And maybe even lay off the gin. 

I woke to find my bed

A futon

Not on the second floor

As usual

But on the first

My 85 pound bed buddy dog

Was now a petite cat nestled

On the mattress corner

I ran to my daughter's room

To find she was a he!

And,

Most ridiculous of all,

The love in my husband's eyes

As he embraced me!

Crazy!!

We docked in the dark. I was, finally, fast asleep two decks below in my dorm-sized bunk, after hours of agonizing over channel fever. I entertained thoughts of swimming ashore, as I mashed the space bar on my laptop to flip through electronic solitaire cards. I hadn't needed the steel side-rails for a couple of days, but they were somehow comforting, so I kept them up. The side-rails also provided a fantastic catchment for the laundry in various states of cleanliness, which usually occupied a fair portion of the bunk. Not that I kept the rest of the cabin squared away. This would be unacceptable, under normal circumstances. Most merchant ships carry double-occupancy rooms for all non-officers. However, the maritime industry remains primarily male, so more often than not, there was no other choice than for me to have a private cabin. 

Today, my cabin was uncharacteristically squared away. The only laundry to be seen were the socks I had kicked off the night before. The yellow light above my bunk still buzzed, it was the only source of light until the blue screen of my flip phone illuminated, telling me my alarm was about to start blaring. My laptop had slipped off my stomach and was perched between the mattress and the stainless steel wall. I squinted, and began the mechanical process of waking up. Morning does not fully begin without caffeine and nicotine. I threw on my jeans, and made my way up to do the most important job of my  day; starting the coffee.  

The galley is the epicenter of the ship. It does not matter what is going on outside, or during the workday- as long as there is a hot, delicious meal three times a day. The galley is the one place that sees every single member of the ship through the day. With seventy people and ninety-four days in a floating tilt-a-whirl hundreds of miles into stormy isolation, it is easy to become familiar with every face, voice, and oddity aboard. Day after day, I washed the same dishes, scrubbed the same floors, heard the same voices, saw the same faces and stainless-steel walls. And, day after day, each time we passed, I nodded to the canned, shore-based niceties.

"How's it going?" 

The question became my nemesis. 

I began replying, sweetly at first, then less so, "Yeah! Same as yesterday, same as tomorrow!" 

My point was taken. 

The only thing that changed was the sea. It had been pleasant most of the voyage, I fed the giant albatross scraps from the galley. We had been skirting a southern storm several days prior to our arrival. Some days were flat, gunmetal grey. It was impossible to tell the difference between the dully sparkling hues of the ocean and sky. Other days were darker, rougher, and our legs and torsos grew accustomed to working against the constant movement of the floor beneath us. 

It had not yet occurred to me that the ship was motionless. Coffee in-hand, cigarette in-lip, I maneuvered the handles of the watertight door that led to the smoking deck. The heavy door swung open and a blast of sunlight poured in though my unsuspecting pupils. The heat, and my sea-legs- weak against the inanimate environment, sent me tumbling over the ledge of the door and at the last moment, catching myself on the outside railing of the deck. The sun pricked the skin on my hand, and I pulled myself up. The vivid colors, and humid air filled my starving senses. 

We had landed in Australia. 

The mornings are hard, are they not?

Waking up I have to meet the day

Never does it greet me back, or so I thought

Until my alarm clock told me to go away

“Get more sleep!” it shouted, and I complied

I slept until dinner called from the table

But the food left me hungrier; so I sighed

And my thoughts flew up onto the gable

I asked them quite politely, with a please

Would you please return, good thoughts of mine

But they refused and made outlandish decrees

Such as “Wasteland!” and “O My Darling, Clementine!”

Eventually I wrestled them to the floor

Took a shower, brushed teeth, and I forgot

To reset my alarm clock once more

The mornings are hard, are they not?

My head lies for rest, laden with doom

an outlook on life unhealthy and dark.

With the rise of the morning sun,

something clicks, something shifts.

Chasing away my demons, if for a little while,

replacing them with warm memories, hopes, and dreams.

I can see my aspirations and reasons to fight in the smile of a weak sun.

Life suddenly isn't so bleak, happiness is abundant and fruitful,

I can feel my feet ascending the stairs to paradise and serenity,

even if this solace is ephemeral, I tell myself to enjoy it,

even if just for a little while.

The treetops glisten with the shining droplets of stars

that looked so dead, so faraway last night when I said farewell.

The house that creaked with horrors and nightmares under the black

is now filled with a light, a promising glow that leaves the ghosts of the night speechless.

The morning grows old and the sun nears its throne in the sky

just as my optimism and light-hearted delusions begin to slip away.

 Life seems just as it always seems

and the birds wait again till daybreak to grace the world with their song.

I awoke when the light began pounding on my temple, like a desperate salesman at my front door. It was just as unwanted. I pulled the covers up to block it but the damage had been done; I was awake, which pissed me off because I had no interest in being conscious. I went to bed last night praying to every conceived god to forever keep me asleep, a mass prayer that went unnoticed.

It took a second for my brain to get all of its synapses firing, and when it did the sorrow began consuming me. It started in my face, now flush and hot, and worked its way down. I could feel it devour every cell. It spread through me the same way lightning rapes the sky; unforgiving and unstoppable. As it washed over me, images of my son flashed in my head. The mental collage followed a linear timeline. It started with him as a baby laying on my chest in the hospital, then as a toddler, followed by his first day of preschool, then grade school, and then ending with him laying in his casket. His favorite baseball hat covered his smooth, bald head. His translucent skin and sunken eyes told a story that even a passing stranger would know. The culmination of a year-long struggle had been frozen in time. The sweeping sorrow and inner photo-montage subsided as one, leaving me numb and motionless.

This was day one and I knew, hoped, it would be the worst of it. Nothing was the same, in obvious ways and in not. The sun kissing my face in the morning now felt intrusive and presumptuous. The background noise of life beyond my window was no longer soothing. It was banal and insulting. Every car, every voice, every sound was a taunting reminder that their world hadn't stopped, only mine.

I had resolved myself to simply lie here, to slowly wither away until I no longer woke up. This was my protest to the new reality that I didn't ask for. I owed the world nothing anymore, and more importantly, I didn't care what it thought. Choosing to get out of this bed would mean relearning how to function. I no longer knew how to speak or how to work. I couldn't even trust my legs to remain steady underneath me, nor would it be fair to ask them to.

This resignation made me feel good. I had a plan and I felt at peace with it as I flipped my pillow over to the dry side. Having readjusted, I notice the piece of paper on my nightstand. It's folded three or four times and I can see on the flap sticking up. It says, "Mom." I was afraid to read the words my son had written to me and put it off, because regardless of what was on that paper, it could only add to my pain. However, to not read it would be betrayal, so reluctantly I reach out and grab the note and begin opening it. I can already see his bad penmanship in red writing through the folds. Once opened, the note reads, "Mom, thank you for being with me everyday. I'm sad that I won't be with you soon but glad you'll be able to sleep in your own bed again. I love you. P.S. don't forget to feed Max."

The decision was no longer mine and as I pulled off the covers and started getting out of bed, a thought crossed my mind; though everything was different, my purpose was the same.

The place was rocking on a Saturday night.

Me and my girls, feeling alright.

Skin tight jeans and off the shoulder top.

High heeled boots and lips that pop.

A few shots downed with a beer.

The loud music was all I could hear.

He pulled me on to the dance floor,

and then he bought a couple shots more.

We were having a blast swinging our hips,

wasn’t long, we were locking lips.

We decided to leave the crowded bar,

He said his apartment wasn’t far.

I couldn’t get over his sexy eyes,

He didn’t seem like most other guys.

His arms strong and his ass was tight,

this was going to be an awesome night.

I couldn’t believe I scored such a hottie,

I probably shouldn’t have been so naughty.

I passed out beside him on the bed,

we both slept heavy, like the dead.

I woke up with my head a pounding,

in an unfamiliar, new surrounding.

It took a while before i recalled,

whose bed upon, I was sprawled.

Then I remembered his handsome face,

and being in his soft embrace.

I hoped I wasn’t too much a mess,

as I felt his warm caress.

I rolled over with a little grin,

and ran my hand along his skin,

but when he turned and looked at me,

I thought, no way, this couldn’t be.

Who was this ugly, hairy dude?

I’m sorry if I’m being rude.

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing,

All I could think about was fleeing.

Beer goggles got me in this shit,

I gotta go, I gotta split.

What the hell had I been thinking,

Dammit I’ve got to stop that drinking.

It's dark.  Pitch black void, uninterrupted.  The veil begins to lift, blinking in fluorescent light.  It floods my vision.  I slowly adjust to it.  How long had I been asleep?  As the blurriness subsides, i take in my surroundings.  I'm standing in front of a classroom, students gaping at me in disbelief.  Some of them, i recognize.  This feels...familiar.  I notice friends.  Enemies.  I feel a draft, and reflexively cover my underwear.  I notice bullet points of a speech in my hand.  This has all the familiar beats of a dream.  I pinch myself and distinctly feel the sensation.  Friends are still staring, silently willing me to go on and salvage my dignity.  I can feel goosebumps take form on my bare skin.  My palms are clammy with anticipation.  It all feels so...visceral.  This cant be a dream. How did i get here?  Where are my pants?  My head is swimming in a fog.  The students are now pointing at me and laughing.  The teacher stifles a giggle and beckons me to begin.  I steel up my courage, resign myself to the moment, and recite my speech.  The speech starts disjointed, but eventually comes naturally.  I gain confidence.  The students slowly stop laughing and become engaged.  Eventually i forget about my exposed skin.  There is only me in the moment, delivering the most passionate speech of my life.  I belt out my closing paragraph, finishing with a flourish of oratory skill.  The students stand and clap.  The teacher beams with pride.  I take a bow in triumph.  "Thank you", i say to no one in particular.  "Once I got started, I stopped thinking about how I looked and it all just became eeeeeeasyyyyyyyyy..."  

     The voice trails off.  His eyes dim and he pitches slowly forward.  A tech runs in to break the fall.  He reaches behind the fallen man's head and disconnects a cable from the base of his skull that runs into the wall.  The holograms of the crowd and teacher disappear.  Many techs are running around now, cleaning the space, resetting furniture(in what formation).  The fallen man is placed on a cart and wheeled to a room for storage.  A man located on a perch above the room observing the scene nods his head in understanding.  He jots down notes on his pad and files it away under a folder labeled Fears and disconnects his consciousness from the terminal.  

I woke up. Now, that doesn't seem like anything breathtakingly surprising, but I sure was surprised when I woke up; I was in my bed. Again, that might not seem surprising to most people out there. I was in my bed and everything was like I remembered; the wallpapers, the night stand, the bookshelf and the desk in the corner.

You probably don't see any problems there, but I certainly do. Because actually, I'm dead. So what am I doing here?