The Bathroom Mirror

August 26, 2013

The day is fast-moving while my body is glued to bed. I would sleep the afternoon off if I could, but as usual, my consciousness is running in several places at once. So many things stealing my focus and too little energy to give a flying rat’s ass.  I have what you would call a day of severe unproductiveness. 

My brother’s footsteps disturbed my doozing at 3 AM. I am a light sleeper so the littlest noise could wake me no matter how tired I was before going to bed. I smelled alcohol and sweat stink. I didn’t bother to find out what was he up to. Instead, I closed my eyes and waited for the yawnings to come back. 

“Were you able to sleep?” My father stood at the doorstep of the room. 

It was around 7 in the morning. I wanted to smack him, but instead, I gave him no response. To be fair, he didn’t know that my precious sleep was just interrupted 4 hours ago.

I woke up feeling tired, exhausted and a little sad. Little by little, I feel like my body’s failing me. Or maybe that’s just me trying to amuse myself by giving color and drama to a day of mind-numbing blandness. Or maybe that’s really just the way it is. I am not sure anymore. When I went to the bathroom to take a piss, the mirror hanging on the wall gave me a sight of a person looking so lost and so unworthy of any positive adjectives. My eyes and its bags looked dead and my skin looked like it belonged to a 40-year-old traffic enforcer. I stared at the reflection for a couple of minutes, berating my exterior and imaginingly rubbing my eyes for clarity. Then I realized it’s an image that I’ve been seeing but afraid to acknowledge for quite some time now.

What am I doing to myself? When did I become so determined to take a rough but ultimately route-less road? Is it the day that’s messed up or is it me? These questions, though seemed out of place, started hitting me on the face and they suddenly felt crucially important.

I might be beginning to understand the reason for all these uneasy feelings in me. I hope I do. Thank you and fuck you, bathroom mirror. What that was is necessary. Now, I’m torn between going back to dry-humping my bed and going to church.

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