Saturday. Half asleep, minimal coffee in my system, I reach for the front door of the apartment.
My roommate breaks his role of mute on the couch nearby. “Leaving again?”
Jolt of adrenaline, confusion.
I have been asleep all day. This would be the first time I left. Maybe he meant yesterday, I tell myself. Or maybe I go through money so quickly because I’m doing things in my sleep. Rarely do I know what’s in my account, in my gas tank. I frequently forget where I parked, frequently get the day wrong. Could I be ignoring the warning signs?
I tell myself it’s just paranoia.
Sunday, I wake up. Good morning, afternoon.
Now, what was it? Implicit impact, explicit amnesia. Reverberations of response, no recollection of the stimulus. Awakening engulfed in a mood, the product of just another dream hidden from me.
So I sip the coffee, smoke the cigarette and wonder what goes on in my head in the absence of my consciousness. The mind should not be so foreign and secretive to its resident awareness, methinks.