Metamorphobliss

It’s Wednesday, November 6^th. I wake up slowly; taking my time while every switch inside the cavern of my body turns on and breathes life back into itself. I refuse to remove the pillow from over my eyes and solemnly pray that if I can just stall my body from waking up for long enough I won’t have to face the trials of the day. My second alarm hisses at me to get up, and I allow my indignation to fizzle away because I know that I have to. I sigh a heavy and sunken breath and murmur the golden words that I say to myself every morning: “goddammit.”

I’m suddenly overcome with the abrupt urge to throw up. I remove the pillow from my face and wretch all over the western hemisphere of my bedroom. I feel slow, like molasses dripping through a microscopic hole. I feel weak like a body builder gone flaccid. My head is so empty that it hurts. I feel too lazy and demotivated to pick up my bile.

I look into the mirror near my bed. I stare at myself and realize that something is off. Something is wrong, terribly wrong, and my body is trying to warn me but all it seems to be translating into is vomit.  With every attempted cautionary synapse my brain chemicals send to me, my mind retracts further and further away from the present.

My eyes sink deeper into my head. Drool creeps out of the corners of my mouth and my brain remains wildly vacant.  I scratch my head. All I can think about how is how difficult and useless caring about anything sounds right now.

“Oh my god,” I think to myself. “No, no this can’t be.” I realize that I’ve turned into my worst nightmare: an idiot.

I scan my room. I look at the books, the posters, and the insights written down on the thousands of scraps of paper that I used to pull from every crevice I could. I rip open my notebooks, flip open my laptop, jiggle the mouse to my desktop and scan for something, anything that will spark a thought in my mind, but alas I’m a moron and I give up just around when I begin.

Everything is ugly and boring. The colors are dull, the books are dry, and the walls are stodgy. I know that I used to care about all of these things, but I just can’t seem to remember why.  All I remember is that I had gone to bed the night before dreaming and wishing for simplicity. I decide to give up on my responsibilities for the day and I crawl back into bed. “I don’t need to go to work or school,” I say to myself. “I know everything that I need to know already.” I flip on the TV and melt; ignorance is the ultimate bliss.