I feel like visitor to this skin. Like this body is something foreign, clunky and cumbersome to use. I’m hit with waves of blurred vision and unexplained sweating every 15 minutes. My arms feel like logs and my fingers feel like jelly – both of which have rendered me too useless to get this fishbowl off my head. Ha, fishbowl. I’m like an underwater astronaut. Who swims the waves of nausea. I'm going to be sick or fall asleep. Do I have allergies? Sneezing, coughing, wiping-eye allergies? There’s this one thing I missed out on doing and now it's manifested itself in all these other ways; it could have been so easily solved. Like a puzzle. An inside puzzle for my face. I love the small mirrors in the backs of spoons and in cell phone screens. I like to check my face in the camera to see if my bags have turned blue yet. I think my tie is too short. Did I just say recession? I probably shouldn’t be driving. Is that oil on the ground or hallucinations in my eyes? Who am I asking all these questions to? I’m scared of getting stopped by police but it’s not like I’ve been drinking. Hah, drinking what? I am a caffeine master with a black belt in black juice. Riddle me that, Officer. This is a massive unspoken drama that only I’m a party to. I am my own director, cast, audience and reviewer. And I’m doing a damn good job of getting home. Every corner’s like a party I haven’t crashed yet. Every traffic light a rave I’m invited to. Jet lag is for the weak. Boy George sleep is going to feel awesome. Just as soon as I can remove this fishbowl.
--Sent from my iPhone
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