I walked around with the light out and felt the furniture and walls from a distance as if waves of energy were emitted and absorbed by thousands of tiny tympanic membranes on the surface of my body. A stream of cold water ran over my hands, and I felt every smooth bead of liquid flow through my fingers. Every texture, from the rough strands of a towel to the smooth viscous air enveloping me, and every scent and every sound built a mental model of my surroundings. I was acutely aware of these physical details in the pitch blackness.
I’ve been deliriously tired these last few days. I was sure today is Tuesday until around noon when I realized that it’s Thursday, only to find out later that it’s really Wednesday. I ought to go to sleep, but I know that the second I close my eyes my alarm will sound and the real Thursday will begin.
Keep eyes open, put one foot in front of the other—the words my mind cry out as I numbly push myself to an obscure finish line that keeps moving farther back. It often feels as though I’ll be forcing myself forward in this zombie-like fashion for the rest of my life.
This world casts such a haze.
Then I find myself in the dark, and I’m struck with clarity. And it occurs to me that I’m alive.
Five more packets of six-week waves. Temporal quanta.
Temporal qualia—good night