My body feels miserable. I am mentally intact, but my torso always begins to contort in pain as the sun barely starts to set--by nightfall, I'm fully hunched over, wondering what the hell is wrong with me. Long running nerves sprawl across my abdomen, shot with pain. They're shriveling and crying over my little muscles and intestines and bellybutton. If I stretch out to straighten my spine, these nerves shut up for a little bit so that their cousins in my lower back can join in on this chorus of hot-cold aching and aching and aching. The tendons that run up and down the cinched part of my waist start to contract, and leave the rest of my torso wondering if I can still support my weight, the ribcage and the arms and the head full of cerebrospinal fluid sloshing my brain back and forth, back and forth.
My back hurts, and I have cramps. It's hard to stand up straight.
None of this would seem too out of the ordinary were I on my period. Or nearing it, even. But au contraire! I just ended that devilish thing, for, at the very least, 20 full days--so what is this horror coming to devour me now? Why, I ask the almighty God--why!
Other than that. I'm feeling good.
The relationship is going exceedingly well. It's a bit scary simply because it's too much of a good thing. But I'll just accept it as such--because that's the only way it'd work. And I want--need--it to work.
Well, this entry has been fairly mundane.
I'm going to brush my teeth and nurse my ailing body now.
The days are full, full of life and sounds and errands. There are the daily transactions:
"Hi, do you need any help?"
"Uh, yes, can I check out a book on reserve?" [fluster.]
"Sure. What book is it?"
"Applied--no, Annual Editions. Applied Editions? Anthropology. No, let me check. Sorry."
[emerging triumphant] "Annual Editions, Anthropology."
[searching] "Is it 05/06?"
"Uh, 05/06 or 06/07, either will work." [fluster2.]
"102 or 201?"
"What color is it? Is it blue or grey? Do you know?"
"Mm grey, I think." [fluster3.]
[holding up a book from the stacks] "Well, it's listed under 201, just to let you know. They must use the same book."
"Just to let you know. It'll make it easier for the person helping you next time."
"Now I need your ID card."
"...damn." [fluster4. fade to exit.]
There are the everyday, polite smiles. New acquaintances, people you forget the names of ("Hey, you! How're you? Yeah, I'm fine."). A nod and a hope that your hair still retains some semblance of order and cleanliness and grooming. A nod and a thought about the fading reminder etched in pen ink on the back of your left hand. A nod. A nod. A nod to sleep.
At the end of the day, you find yourself in a familiar, comfortable domicile filled with aging, changing strangers. You speak and fart and keep secrets from each other, averting eyes and laughing at a poorly-executed joke. You sit down to rest, to think to yourself for the first time in the day.
Close your eyes.
A warm body sidles up next to you, soothing, calming. An overwhelming quiet invades your busy head, putting frantic thoughts to bed. It's late. It should be time for bed. Close your eyes, again.
You flick off a light inside your hollow skull.
Warm. Calm. Gone.