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{corporate insomnia} scarlett watters Nine to five, I work. And five to nine I don’t. Nine to five I stare at my computer screen. Five to nine I stare at my ceiling. My life is being sucked away for a pay check. Friday. Every other Friday. White envelope, drive, stop, “Good Afternoon”, “cash?” Drive! Slave to paper. Nine to five, I work. Five to nine I don’t. Nine to ten ‘til five I stare at my ceiling. Ten ‘til five I wait for the beep of my alarm so I can push the snooze. I’m awake, push the snooze, go back to sleep, back to staring at my ceiling. Beep, hit, snooze, stare. Ten after five I get up and shower. I fall asleep staring at the soap scum in between the tiles and don’t wake up until the water runs cold. Beep, hit, snooze, stare, shower, sleep. Ten ‘til six I dry off and make breakfast in my towel. I fall asleep in my eggs and wake up at five after seven, get dressed, start my car, and drive. Beep, hit, snooze, stare, shower, sleep, dry, cook, sleep, dress, drive. I drive two hours to stare at my computer screen. Nine to five I work. My boss doesn’t know my name. No one knows my name. I walk around the office nameless and sleepless. The light from the streets keeps me awake. I will paint my windows black. I stare at a computer screen nine to five. No amount of darkness can stop that. With my windows black I won’t be able to stare at my ceiling five to nine. I will stare at nothing. I will think of nothing. I will not think of my black window. I will not think of my alarm. I will not think of my name. I will not think of my boss not knowing my name. I will not think about my computer screen. I will not think about soap scum between tiles. I will not think about breakfast in my towel. I will not think about inky light through my black window. I will not think about black paint. I will not think about black. I will not think about. I will not think. I will not. I will not think about lamps or how they don’t work. My mind makes its own light out of black. Shapes spin in and out of color and in and out of dark. They make light of the black around. I can’t sleep. I can sleep. I fall straight into a nightmare. I can’t move. If I could I would get a light bulb. I would dissolve the darkness, the shapes, and the colors that tease the black out of this room. If I could move I would know what time it was. For all I know, the sun is already up. If I could move I would open my blinds and scrub the windows until the glass dissolves. But I am frozen. I am frozen in the black of my room. I am stuck to my bed. If I move the shapes will slice my fingers, or my toes, or my neck. I am not frozen. My blood will flow red and free into the black. I know this. I have seen it happen before. My eyelids are slipping down my eyeballs, sliding freely into sleep. If I could move I would get up out of this darkness. I would get up and get a light bulb from the top of the closet shelf. I would make coffee. I would light a cigarette. The colors disappear. My mind slips too easily. The darkness of my mind is darker than the darkness in my room. A hand reaches for my face. It pulls me into the black nihility. My weight slips beneath my feet. I should have planned this better. I would not have lain down. I would have made coffee. I would have smoked a cigarette. I would have fixed the lamps. And my alarm goes off. I’m awake, push the snooze, go back to sleep, back to staring at my ceiling. Beep, hit, snooze, stare. I fall asleep staring at the soap scum in between the tiles and don’t wake up until the water runs cold. Beep, hit, snooze, stare, shower, sleep. I fall asleep in my eggs and wake up with yolk on my chin, get dressed, start my car, and drive. Beep, hit, snooze, stare, shower, sleep, dry, cook, sleep, wipe, dress, drive. Nine to five I work. My boss still doesn’t know my name. I think I will stay at home and listen to the blues instead. |
