About last night …

My finger spins the wheel
on the rodent’s back.
Squeak, squeak, squeak,
it does not
and I’m glad
but no less concerned.
This incessant scrolling
is boiling my brain.
Just stop.
Aye, okay, in a minute.
Many minutes later
the rodent’s back.
I haven’t moved
but I’ve aged.
Mindless distraction
seems harmless,
it’s interaction
is it not?
No, it’s not.
Right, shut it down.

Relief, back creaks
as I straighten
to stand. Headrush –
a little sway
this way and that
and I’m moving,
determined
to head straight
to bed to get my
head straight.
It’s a viscous circle.
I can’t seem
to get off.

Darkness. Breath.
Pillow cradling head.
I can do this.
I know you can.
Right, I’m doing it.
Well, go on then.
Pep talk
small talk
all talk.
Meditation commencing
in 3, 2, 1 …
and for a while
I forget it all.
I empty and grow
feeling present at last
in the space in-between
then and when
but it doesn’t last,
it never lasts.

There’s a knock
and a cough,
a shuffling of feet.
I pretend not to hear,
pretend I’m asleep.
They know I’m not,
of course they do.
So I sigh, get up
to let them both in,
they tumble inside
they’ve been waiting
this whole time.

Depression settles
quickly, snuggled up to
my heart. Two seconds
and she’s asleep.
Why can’t I be like that?
Anxiety is stretching
doing lunges, of sorts,
he’s preparing
for the long haul.
He takes a pile of papers
from his bag
shuffles them pretentiously –
arsehole.
How many pages
are there?
A few, now
lets gets started.

And so it begins
the quick-fire questions
the bonus round
the 8-point answer
that I always get wrong.
He runs through
every moment
every detail
every night
just to remind me
he’s paying attention,
taking notes
of everything.

We eventually finish.
I hear the birds
announcing the sun’s
coming up,
and he chuckles
under his breath.
Is that the time?
We should get to bed.
No shit sherlock.
Fucking dick.

#NaPoWriMo2020 #Day22