Giddy With Time

A gentle buzzing and then the ringing begins, however, it's stopped almost simultaneously. At this point I can turn my alarm off I my sleep - my fingers don't fumble - they slip up to the ledge, swiftly tugging the chord and muting the alarm for another five minutes. I repeat this seven times, sometimes more. I force my eyes open, luring myself out of the quilt; leaving only with the promise of coffee. I lope heavily, dragging my limbs to the kitchen. I fill the kettle, flick it to boil and stand, impatiently waiting. Some would use this time to urinate, or shower-or-something. I don't. I cannot function until my cup is brimmed with milky-brown liquid. I slowly ready myself, alarms periodicaly chiming to let me know how fast I need to move. I slip out, cigarette bent between two fingers, lit before the door has even closed behind me. Gingerly pacing, I chug along to the train station, where I stand in line, in my place; the same place; and I continue chugging, until I reach the glassy, revolving doors. I'll take a deep breath, like I'm preparing to dive deep - and I guess I am, because I'll stay here for 9 hours of my day. Squashed behind three screens, knees bent akwardly, squirming in my seat. At five-fifty-nine, I type goodbye and eagerly wait to hit enter, smashing my laptop closed. In one swift motion, my arms are draped through my coat sleeves and my bag has mounted my back - and I'm gone. No looking back, the glass doors are already revolving behind me. I'm practically running, giddy with time, over-flowing with the countless prospects of how to use my diminishing minutes. I clamber up six flights of stairs, too impatient to wait for the elevator to touch down. I colapse for an hour or so. Drained, the day running through my brain. I wash clothes. I clean tupperware. I cook food. I eat. I shower. I cry. I laugh. I cry again. I crawl into bed, and somehow, I repeat. There's some small variations but more or less I do this day-in-day-out. Over and over and over, again and again and again. A gentle buzzing and then the ringing begins, however, it's stopped almost simultaneously. At this point I can turn my alarm off I my sleep - I swing my legs out of bed, and plant both feet on the ground. I feel purpose. I feel good. I skip coffee. I urinate. I shower-or-something. I slip out. My skin is tingling. I'm giddy with time. I'm actually running. Heels padding to the ground, rhythmically gaining speed. I can see the the sun peaking over the horizon. It's getting closer, warm rays spilling into the sky. I'm crying, still running. I see the waters edge. I'm crying, still running. Treading water until I'm forced to bow down. I swim. I'm angry. I swim. I can't. I swim. I've had enough. I swim. I cry. I swim. I scream. I swim... I swim, until I can't feel anymore. I feel so much nothing, that suddenly, I feel everything. The whole world comes pouring in. I can feel it all, every single drop of liquid sunshine in my veins. Every morsel consumed and released back into open air, drifting -

And then, there's nothing. Not even me.