As I sat down my chair, my body slowly sunk into the sleepiness. My mind filled with nothingness, slowly filled with little flashes of imagination. My subconscious self was dreaming. The mass of my body filled with warm brunch a while ago, felt loose as I let go. It lay there aloof submerged in the uncomfortable plastic chair that I hated the most. Every evening I went home with souring back ache and neck problems. Yet I descended lower and lower in the rock like compound that we like to call a chair. My arrival just 5 minutes ago did not matter to my mind and body. All it wanted to do was relax and let go. I wonder how relaxed it felt. After all, I had to go home with the souring ache again. I tried so hard to keep myself awake but my mind clogged with the tiny rays of unreal thoughts that never even existed. I bet my mind was working but don’t know what for. Didn’t take long for the eyewash. The eyes watching me through the camera on the far left corner kept me conscious all the while. My eyes burned with the clash of water. I endured it. Like always, my diary lay semi-shut with a pen as a holder. The monitor flickered with changing screensaver. And a dusty telephone thrown on the side I never had to use. I had nothing to do. For most people, taking a cup of coffee would do. But no, Like an alcoholic, I had drowned myself in the drink so much that now it barely worked; I was a coffee addict.
I had a fresh copy of a 2014, second edition of a 2012 published book that had just been torn out of its plastic wrap that my girlfriend had just parceled me with her initials engraved on the first page. She wanted me to read it, thought it’d help us understand our “situation”. Like most bookaholic, I loved the smell of new books. There were times when I leaned on my bed sniffing the pages of old and new books. I wanted to run my eyes through it; plunge my thoughts into the wild world that the writer had created. But I was forced to chain it away in my bag. I sat down. The droplets of water ran from my forehead to my chin racing with each other as if the curves on my face were a formula 1 circuit. It was so hot even on an early autumn morning of September, I did not care to wipe it. Thought it’d help me stay conscious. With a heavy sigh, I picked up the chilled bottle of water. The typical green plastic bottle of a cold drink for a 1 liter pack reused looked scraped. I had my doubts. I was cautious like my usual skeptic self, I took a peek inside with an eye closed. It looked safe; I drank it. The heated temperature had caused the icy chill in the bottle to melt and there were damp stamps on the table where lay the bottle just before I picked it up. I choose to put the bottle back on the exact same spot as it was before. It was a weird old habit. The freshness I had this morning was all gone. Not even a chilled bottle could refresh it and bring it back. And it all went back. It wasn’t that I woke myself up all night. And it wasn’t like I was tired. But my body sank into the sleepiness again. And my mind again filled with nothingness, slowly filled with the little flashes of imagination. My subconscious self was back to dreaming with the clogged rays of unreal thoughts that never even existed. I did not care about the camera across the room. I could not help it. Sigh!