I woke up nonchalantly, with an abrupt and disregarding start. I hadn't a dream last night. As the commanding whiteness of a morning sky began to seep through a slight separation between the curtains, my body braced itself artificially yet ruthlessly upward. I twisted my head as if to examine myself and only halted because all I saw was an empty slump in the middle of the pillow. I walked in perpendicular to the bed, turning after three or four steps to the left, and opened the bathroom door in a compact series of interlocking metallic sounds.
The light in the bathroom shone with almost surgical brightness. The frail man in the mirror flinched automatically like a beer bottle. Amused by his outright stupidity, I put up a tender smile and looked closer - the face was roughly symmetrical with a touch of animalism that I'd learned to ignore. The two nostrils, delineated with some sort of in-between wall, contracted in a rhythmic, ever-lasting dance. The eyes are sitting comfortably in bones' enclave, pointing towards different directions like a pair of chained-up squirrels. The lips were a bit dry, but still reddish - I mused, it was such that this young, vulnerable, wishful, certified penis-bearing gene gun was presented on the market. And not without an oversized slice of self-importance, the man brushed his face like an African wildcat licking its fur.
"What kind of morning is this?" Impatient, I retreated into the shower with leg's artful glide. My fingers curled unto the handle and rotated left, and the water came down with a mushy steam that clouded the glass container, where a body could be seen to move with all of its visceral, vague sense of beauty. I held my breath intently as the foam of shampoo was first applied, and then washed away, and silently stood there to feel the water's irrevocable flow. After perhaps an eternity of warmth, I turned off the shower, and walked out.
Everything was all of sudden different, as if I became more judgmental in an instant. One ought to describe such difference not with adjectives, but with a quick collection of nouns: morning, class, breakfast. The shower somehow lifted me from a smothering tedium of emptiness into an smothering array of things upon which I construct my inscrutable edifice. These things were quite like hunger, thirst and yearning, but in reverse order, epistemologically distinct but functionally similar. Compelled by these things like I would by hunger, thirst and yearning, I grabbed the black overcoat and headed out - the traffic condition was quite good today; the road was clear, and there wasn't any need for me to adjust the course. Yet it was at this moment, the engineering marvel of being me was shattered. There were not many engineering marvels at the servery on 7:30 AM - but in the systemized movements and unbending determination of the way the few were eating breakfast, I felt a Renaissant push like an egg cracking on the head of a poet.
I consumed a few pink eggs produced by several far-away female chickens, and piled the two coffee cups made from several far-away trees, and went for the class amongst several far-away buildings. I was surprisingly fine. I galloped forth quite steadily even when I was not paying too much attention to the ground. Like enjoying a sip of whiskey on an airplane seat, I downloaded the "Diagonal Walking Challenge" game from my mental App Store, and began to play it - 20 meters ahead a vertical vegetation was spotted, and at the 50-meter mark a slope appeared too steep to traverse. I was even playing in multiplayer mode, where the other players were not as skillful as I was. I secretly gloated at such a distinguished honor. But like any game downloaded from the App Store, that game became old so fast that I had to search for a new game to download.
When I reached the class, I had not downloaded another game. The Moonlight Sonata was not playing in the background; I was not writing a book; Berlin was not suffering from terrorist attack; the Wall Street was not melting; many people were starting to have an unimaginably good love affair; many people were not; the bookcase in my old apartment was sitting right next to the wall; a woman was giving birth; another woman was being born; Petr was still afraid of his wife; and I was somewhere on a planet circling a star, doing presentation.
15 hours later, when the planet has finished another 0.625 cycle of rotation, I'm going back to sleep.
