lethargic endurance

I'm sitting here in the living room on a not-so-comfortable lounge chair covered in a hand-made quilt. My room mate is next to me on the couch with the over-stuffed cushions. Her neck has sunken into her clavicle and her forehead reaches towards her belly. Every once in a while she'll jump with a snort and rearrange her limbs for a more comfortable snooze. Sex and the City plays on the small TV screen across the room. It just keeps on going.

Since I've lived here I've become way too familiar with the characters on this show. I've actually come to think of them as mentors (mainly of what NOT to do). They teach me the ways of the secular dating world. But they also keep me glued to my seat, my head slightly tilted. I cannot do anything when the TV is on, let alone when Carrie is narrating. I hate this feeling of lethargy. I've spent the past five hours writing a final term paper for school. All I want to do right now is tap dance, and damn it I don't know how to tap dance.

So I went for a walk. That lethargic feeling is only booted with a good dose of physical exertion. Unfortunately, the weather outside gives me good reason to stay leisurely. So instead my thoughts drift to a sedated meditation. My mind wanders up towards the moon and revels in the mastery of the sky. How is it that we can feel so large and so unbelievably tiny at the same time? I used to have these dreams when I was little. They're hard to describe even though I've had them continuously for years. For the first time a couple months ago I experienced the odd sensation during waking hours. I can try to induce it now, as the last show of the DVD has ended and all is silent.

Stay exactly where you are whether it's seated, lying down, standing up, leaning on the counter, whatever - and don't move a muscle. Your eyes won't even move; they are concentrated on a single point of non interest. Let each limb fall limp. They are made of lead and weigh too heavy on the surface to move. They are weightless, the blood in the veins floats through its passage and you feel a contradiction. The spirit pulsing inside of you, that life that keeps you conscious, is lifting, but the body that encapsulates it is grounded. As your eyes stay fixed and your internal drive battles with peace, your head begins to sway; your head becomes too heavy for the neck that holds it straight.

You can stay here as long as you please. It'll take great effort to break out of your trance, as I suppose it may be called. In my dreams my mom would always be present - some personal psychology I have yet to crack open. The objects in the room would always be very large and appeared extremely heavy - often made of steel. I was smaller than everyone else, but I was approached as a normal person. I felt helpless perhaps, but engaged none-the-less. Writing it out now I'd say I felt like a child in a very pure sense. I was a new creature in an already established world. I was being educated in things I did not yet understand.

They weren't scary dreams, but they may have been a uncomfortable. I didn't recognize the feeling, but in a weird, almost morbid way, I enjoyed it.

When I found myself in this state while awake I realized I couldn't move. I would tell myself to move, but my mind played tricks on me and wouldn't allow my muscles to respond to the message. I would even feel the muscles twitch in preparation, but I would stop them. Nothing else is controlling our minds but ourselves. The mind and the brain and the body, are they all separate things will separate wills?

Jerk the head. Make a loud noise. Anything that distracts the mind from thinking. All it's doing is thinking - ruminating. The pen and paper our my saviors.