Monday, March 31, 2008
For the briefest second, right before my eyes fluttered open, I didn't know where I was. Another few seconds later and I felt strangely awake despite the grey sky outside the window and my disturbed sleep. It rained overnight. I was vaguely aware of the temperature shift and the humidity increase the entire time; it made me sweaty and uncomfortable as I rustled around under the sheets. I remember dreaming intermittently - my unfinished paper haunts me still. I heard birds chirping behind the familiar sound of light spraying water as car wheels drove along wet asphalt.
I can't remember what the last thing I thought was, before falling asleep. I remember blinking slowly. Then slower. And slower. When did the lamp turn off?
I looked out the window over the sink as I waited for the water to boil. The road and sidewalks were shiny. Everything else was hazy. I spooned some tea leaves into mugs and watched them unfurl as they steeped in hot water. The water turned brown-green. I sat quietly on a rug and sipped my tea, staring at deep yellow walls. I never have much to say in the mornings. Jasmine has never tasted so sweet.
Everything was wet and grey when we stepped outside. The day holds potential, I said out loud. The rain felt less like rain and more like someone was spraying me in the face with a water bottle. Drops clung to my eyelashes and blurred my vision with small circles. The hem of my loose jeans dragged along the wet ground as I shuffled along. I avoided puddles and dirty road spray as best I could. I was soaked up to my ankles anyway by the time I got home.