Stress

In the morning my alarm sounds. I am snapped out of my dreamworld into reality. The sun shines through my window as I swipe the screen and press SNOOZE. I see that already at 10:30 I have new notifications. I scroll.
New message: Mom: Drew: Nathan: Megan: 1 missed call: 1-800: 3 new snaps: 1 Facebook notification: Check out today’s Timehop:

I drift off to sleep. I long to fall back asleep, reenter the land of my dreams. I was having a good one and I’d very much like to go back to the land that makes sense.

Instead I lie in limbo. Not awake, not asleep.
8 minutes later the alarm sounds.
I press SNOOZE. I see the notifications.

I begin to think of all the things I should accomplish today.

8 minutes later the alarm sounds.
I press SNOOZE. I ignore the notifications.
I ignore the list in my head.
I go back to sleep.
In limbo, lazy limbo, where my anxiety grows.
And I ignore it.

I am stressed.
I am stretched.
I am being pulled from all directions–entanglements I tossed, I stepped in to, lines that I’ve been caught on, hooked by appetizing appearances,
I must release myself from all of these strings
these things
which trip me and trap me.
Snap the cord and swim away. A free fish swimming in a big ocean that must be explored.

The alarm sounds.
The alarm sounds.
The alarm sounds.

I am not a fish, or a cloth doll who’s seams are being ripped, I awaken from my dreams of metaphors, of the place that makes sense.
I am here, lying in my bed with the covers thrown over my head. I am just a young woman who has made too many commitments, listened to too many people, tried to do too many things. Putting one foot here and the other there, saying to myself, look! I am at two places.
I am in one piece.
I cannot blame myself for being swept up in the world. The world is beautiful and I lucky to be here, lying in bed, breathing, saying to myself, I am at two places.

Eventually I will pull myself from my sheets, plant my feet on the floor and unplug the phone. I greet my grandmother and brew my coffee. I grab my cigarettes and sit on my porch. I sip and smoke and breathe, destressing. I say to myself, I am one piece.

And most days I wake up with the same list, the same things, startling me in the morning like a workman at your window doing construction outside.

Some days I get to rearrange the list. Strike something off it. Add something new. The load will always be there, the burden is ours to bear, but
wouldn’t it be nice to lighten the load?
drop some of the luggage?

slowly I’m learning
stumbling
but I’m
taking
notes.

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