The day started at around 5 in the morning. I’m lying awake, on my side, staring at the walls, out the window, thinking tremendously, thinking about stupid, mundane things. Where does that star go once it’s gone behind the horizon? What am I doing awake? What time did I fall asleep? Should I go back to sleep?
Tossing and turning…
The night before, I’d been drinking a bit. I tend to do that. Earlier that day, I’d gone out downtown to go to a cafe to sit down and do my work. It never occurred. Because I kept doubting myself. Don’t go there. Don’t make this turn. Keep walking. Where am I going? I don’t know. Just keep moving.
I got to the art store. Bought two canvases. Thought very deeply about each one, and the prices for the other types of canvases, wood panels, and what about thumbtacks? Analysis paralysis! That’s what they call it. (Who’s ‘they’?) Before I went out, I stood in the kitchen and bathroom, thinking. I even stared at myself in the mirror. What now?
That’s what’s strange. About going to bed, not painting, not doing any writing. I feel like I could’ve done more — like I should’ve stayed up … but I was tired, I retreated. To bed. Then, in a few hours, I’m counting the cars that are passing down on the street. Or rather, I’m recognizing that the pace is picking up, more and more cars are heading north on 16th Street.
Should I get up? No, I’ll go back to sleep. I can’t sleep. Shouldn’t I wake up, or get up, I’m already awake. No, I’ll go back to sleep. I know, if I get out of bed and start my day, I’ll just be tired…
And then, it’s about 7. What gets me out of bed? Other than telling jokes to myself. I think about the painter John-Michel Basquiat. That makes me laugh.
I get out of bed, make some coffee. The sun is bursting through my kitchen windows. I take a few pictures. I stretch. Get the coffee going, after eating a pear. Always, always. I go right for the music. Listen on headphones. Drink the coffee. Start working at my desk in my bedroom.
The day’s planned out, mildly. I’ll work until noon. Then I’ll go out to South Street (in Philadelphia) to pay my rent. I also have plans to go to Home Depot to get some spackle to fix two leaks in my kitchen.
I get my work done, go get my groceries (after paying my rent). Changing my diet! No more pasta, pizza, bread, wheat. Lots of fruits and vegetables! Heading back to my apartment, fingers numb…
Get the blood flowing! Out to the bus stop, I’m then heading East on Morris. Home Depot. I take my time, but I know what I want. I’d gone there for the spackle — I leave with a new shower head, cleaning supplies, some light bulbs. How did I spend 80 bucks?
Then I hang up 11 paintings. Wash my sheets, comforter. Clean the floors. Spackle the ceiling in the kitchen. Read from two books. Drink some wine. Eat some kale, carrots, and cucumbers.
I could paint, go play guitar at an open mic.
Instead, I’m drinking red wine. Writing.
To you.
I think of everything, all at once. I’m calm now.
Wait! Forgot my French lessons.
Bryan has poetry, fiction, non-fiction and freelance journalism published in various digital publications including Red Fez, Whirlwind Magazine, and Entropy. He has also self-published books of rejections, poetry and a novella. His website is bryanwilliammyers.com. Twitter: @bryanwillmyers // Facebook: www.facebook.com/bryanwillmyers
Turtle Way 