Right Here, Right Now, I Feel…

Putting awareness into words

Pressure to produce.

The acerbic bitterness of black coffee coating my fresh morning pallette.

Sweet familiarity of being back at home after traveling. Does it count as nostalgic if I’m still living it?

My chest and belly slowly rising and falling with each breath. My heartbeat accompanies at double pace. Percussionists never rest. Every song needs a beat.

Tension in my shoulders and neck — the chronic tech-neck forward head-hunch curling in towards the screen. I just felt it drop and release. There’s more, I know it.

Some other emotions stirring close beneath the surface. What are these feelings lurking in the shadows? I close my eyes to sense closer. Is it you, Sadness? Have you brought a friend, Impatience? Why don’t you reveal yourself? You’re playing hard to get.

Muscles in my forearm that I’ve never paid attention to while typing. I try to relax but there’s low-level tension that refuses to leave, especially my left forearm. I wonder how much my elbow pain is related? Relax damn it, relax.

Rectangles, everywhere. My fingers swipe a rectangular key on a rectangular computer sitting on a rectangular placemat covering a rectangular dining room table within a rectangular room placed within a rectangular home. Don’t even get me started on the squares.

Beginnings. It’s not even 7am. 15+hrs await transformation from nothing to something before I sleep again. Why is this not more exciting? Maybe because it’s Tuesday.

Sacks of meat — flesh, blood, and bone. Would my leg taste good? Doubtful. Must I ask? Yes. If I am to eat other animals, I must own the thought of being eaten myself.

Desire: It lurks behind every corner, waiting in the space between impulse and action. Desire to take another sip of coffee. Desire to urinate. Desire to stand up. Desire to become unboxed and leave the manufactured world of rectangles. Desire to shout at the top of my lungs, “Good morning sunshine. Have a beautiful day!” Desire to feed my ravenous mind something more stimulating. How much desire is simply running away from pain and how much actually stimulates the tender follicle of evolution?

Choices that are not mine to make. They’ve been decided already. My body specifically commands me to take it to the bathroom. Can I relish in my role as protector and servant? Is my ego willing to accept that free will may just be an illusion of “free won’t”?

The ability to put this morning into words. To share my inner theater of subjective feeling. To reveal what might have passed through me without acknowledgment. To language a moment and then give that moment a home in the cloud — Digital real estate substitutes for neurological property. I wonder if my neurons feel relieved?