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TIRED (12/08/2021) back I am gripped and suffocated by restlessness and clammy nausea. I am at odds with the forces of physics. I am at odds with the gravity and pressure of the Earth's atmosphere. I do not know where I am. For a moment, I find myself laying in bed. I stare up at the ceiling, obscured by darkness. I look to the window. There is lilac light hesitating through the blinds. It is a shy light. It is dull, and only barely approaching the faintest suggestions of to-be sunrise. I am tired. I want to sleep. My mouth is dry and my muscles ache. This feverish feeling causes me to stir; I un-stick clothing from my skin, and mindlessly fidget. And for another moment, my hand is tightly gripping a steering wheel, seated in a taxi cab- my cab. Again, again, I am here, with my foot mindlessly pressing on the accelerator, driving this humming vehicle through a tunnel of darkness. That is to say, the tunnel walls themselves are darkness, a sky far blacker than it should be on any occasion. The spot of light in front of me continues to move forwards with the vehicle, illuminating the asphalt road, and the grass parted by the road. It is short, dry grass, remaining still even as the air pushes by with the car's movement. The low hum of the engine became something almost biological; a soft, almost comforting, warm din, recalling in-utero security. The vibrations emanating through the steering wheel, through my hand, through every bone and tendon, through my arm, into my ribs and chest, through my slow breath, and through the seat of the car, up through my spine, eased me. I continue driving. Inside this car, it is comfortably warm. I dare not open the window even a crack. For thirty-five years now, I have been driving on this road endlessly. In this time, in the recesses of my soul, I was delivered a direct transcription of every event that has happened in the past thirty-five years. These were ideas and concepts that I did not think about, so much as I felt them; they were not words to articulate through the mind, these were rays of informational energy that swept and surged around inside my very being, or soul, and as such, I cannot tell you the things that I learned in a way that would accurately communicate what information I acquired through this act of feeling; language fails this desire of mine to communicate. It has now been ninety-seven years. Still, I am receiving an onslaught of information, and at this moment, I cannot discern where or when I am receiving this information from. There is too much for my soul to process, and there is a great, grey blur between past and future. This feeling is overwhelming, and I can no longer process it calmly. The neurons in my brain are suddenly aflame with a great, burning electricity, and this electricity races through every nerve in my body, and envelopes me in a terrible, all-consuming pain, and an uncontrollable, primal desire to thrash wildly, shout, holler, wail, and scream, until I am rid of this horrible storm of fire and prickling. I do not move, however, as I cannot move; my arm is firmly locked in place, with my hand gripping the steering wheel, my body is rigid and sitting straight, with un-moving eyes on the space directly in front of me, and nothing else. There is not even a twitch from my foot, which is still placed securely on the accelerator; the vehicle does not move an iota faster or slower. I have now noticed the moon. The moon is full, it is a circle of bright, white light, sitting just a few inches above the horizon, staring me straight in the eyes, staring straight through me. On the cusp of reaching one-hundred and fifteen years, I am hit with a sudden wave of realization that I have only been driving for six minutes. But these six minutes were also one-hundred and fifteen years, and this fractal quickly became ten million years, then an aeon, then twelve seconds, then a lightyear, then two hours, and then negative thirty minutes. I continued to drive, and still, there is nothing on this road but me, and this road does not end, and the moon does not move. At that moment, I realized I had never been driving to begin with. I am laying in bed once more, or, as I always had been, yet it felt good to be back laying here after so much time had apparently passed, according to my senses. I turn my head to look at the glowing numbers of the alarm clock radio by my bed, and through the nighttime darkness, I see that no time has passed at all. I still feel tired, and I grow frustrated. Can't I sleep, I ask myself? I begin to pull myself upright, and I rub my eyes. Upon opening my eyes again, white daylight pierces the cracks between the blinds and illuminates the room; the sun has already risen a good amount into the sky, as it has been two hours now. I feel sleepier, and sleepier yet. I don't feel like driving today.  |
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