After a typhoon rush of sticky sleep [sleep has become a difficult knot to untangle. When I do sleep, I sleep HARD, hot dreams with posterized images of rabbits or searching for a hairpin or continued conversations about knuckles. The waking is so labored that at times I cannot remember if these conversations did or did not happen or if I found the hairpin or if that rabbit really was quite so pastel. It is only later that I realize there is no rabbit.] I wake with a gasp and glimpse the white daylight in my room. This is not 6am. This is not 6am. I pick up my phone - I have been using it as an alarm - and it declares, in that unforgiving sans serif font, 9:26. I have a meeting with a student in 15 minutes and here am I, still in my pajamas, unwashed, unkempt, and smelling like sleep [you know that smell]. Still in brushing off the fingers of the Dreaming, I tried to will time to reverse. It's the same impulse right after a car wreck or revelation of explosive information, the brain tries to heal itself and the rift your behavior has created by thinking, no it is NOT 9:26. It is NOT. It is 7:30. you only overslept a little. It is NOT 9:26. Time will reverse. [At this point, too, the other portions of the brain still waking up have emergency meetings in the the conference room over by the Medulla Oblongata over the whys and whynots of time travel in general. Best to keep them busy. I need to get dressed.] But it is 9:26 - 9:27, and the seconds are ticking even as I scurry around my apartment as if it is not my own, as if I have never been there before. Whose clothes are these? Who brought me here? No time for a shower I throw on whoever's clothes these are, pull my hair back and stumble out of the apartment, still bewildered, half-wondering where I'm going. Then comes the misty recollection that I am a teacher and these are my students and I owe it to them to be there early and show up for fucking meetings I set with them especially for the most timid and sensitive of the bunch - which is who I am meeting today. Could this cab driver STOP ADHERING SO CLOSELY TO THE SPEED LIMIT? Does he not know that when a body catches a cab in the morning that the body is probably LATE...aw, crap, he smiled at me and now I can hold no grudge. Turn! Turn! I run up the stairs, three flights, to my class room, 10 minutes late for my meeting, but I sit and give him my full attention. He is none the wiser...but I'm sure he is wondering why I'm so intense.
Even now I feel a little waterlogged.
Waterlogged with corn syrup.)
This was supposed to be a post about the relativity of favorite colors to objects and food. But it has been overrun by parts of the brain heretofore sequestered in the conference room over by the Medulla Oblongata.
Verdict on time travel still unresolved.
Very well.
I don't like blue or brown M&Ms. I eat them first. And then the yellows and then the orange. I eat the green last.I got jipped on greens in this package.
My actual favorite color is red.
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6 comments:
you must go crazy for the christmas-y time m&m's
humskrot (v.)
The sound sauerkraut makes when you blow on it.
My actual favorite color is red.
Oh. The M&Ms with the poisonous food coloring?
We GET IT. You're MORBID.
And you were taking pictures of M&Ms during Jenny's reading. You ought to be ashamed.
Whoops.I should have been more clear. There weren't any red in the package. Red is my favorite color in general, but I HATE RED M&Ms. They are gross tasting.
These weren't from last night's reading but from today. Look closely...they are peanut.
However, I am still morbid and still ashamed.
All this I am know. I am merely to make joke.
BUT THERE WEREN'T ANY REDS IN THE PACKAGE.
Why do you torture me like this?
I've also looked at the clock while half-awake, convinced that if I simply set the clock back an hour, I can safely get another hour of sleep.
duckdre: Daffy's rapper name.
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