Clocking Time

I wake up with cold feet.

It's 5.18am and I can't drift off back into slumber. Silently, I lie: worn out, yet wide awake. After twenty minutes or so, I switch on the radio and listen idly until an acceptable waking hour arrives and the world starts to stir. I get up and make a cup of tea.

I'm living in a caffeine-fuelled haze of life where the days are passing me by; moving uncomfortably slow. Body aching all over: my joints, my bones, my head, my heart, the arches of my feet, the vertebrae of my spine, the curve of my palm, the bend of my elbow. Tense. On edge. Restricted movement. Limited thinking. Hair weighing me down, eyelids struggling to stay open. I'm not sleeping well; dreaming a scene so vivid it feels as if I haven't rested at all. Drinking coffee to ensure I don't drop off during the day. Eating too much of the wrong kind of foods, baking as a distraction from reality. Feeling down for much of the time, but regaining composure as necessary for the outward mask. The effort of watching words so as not to offend people who cannot help themselves sometimes seems like too much hard work so I let my guard slip and I bark and I bite; my sharp tongue cuts where it hurts. It's forgotten soon enough and the problem is never resolved. It's frustrating. It's exhausting. My house is too hot. I keep the window open but still I find my body overheating. My lips are chapped, my eyes are dry and I wear a vest top to bed.

My feet are always freezing.

Flitterbox: Pink Floyd ~ Comfortably Numb