Today I noticed my warm pillow.
The pillow pressed against my cheek, drawing fragile lines onto my soft morning skin.
I also noticed how my blanket was crooked, twisted, spiraled while hugging my body tightly. This was easy to notice because the sun stormed into my room taking advantage of a small gap between my thick curtains. The light attacked me, enveloped me in a dire, irreversible situation.
Attacked by the morning light, after a night of magical adventures within the realm of dreams, I noticed that I’ve been awaken and I am ready to start a new day.
Today I noticed my husband taking control over his morning. I noticed his energized routine, the dedication in his eyes when engulfing a large glass of tap water and the enthusiasm of preparing my amazing morning coffee. I noticed him moving fluidly, naturally as dancing with the espresso machine.
Then I noticed the roasted coffee aroma waking up our small apartment and his calm voice urging me to get my sleepy ass out of bed. I smiled, appreciating his liveliness and alongside that, my luck. I forced my lazy self out of bed and thanked him for the delicious warm-milk-coffee and for his love.
Today I noticed a good book. I noticed the wonderful smell of fresh new pages, opened for the first time by me. I noticed the silky cover in deep-dark-green color and the gold elegant title inviting me on this new amazing journey.
I noticed the strong and confident title “The Trial”. How conflicting it is with the confusing and controversial reality of the justice system presented within the lovely pages. This made me notice how our world is so similar regarding it’s corruption and how we are mere pawns lost and hopeless in the face of reality. And today I’ve also noticed how we don’t care about this situation, how we complain but in the end, do nothing to change it. How I do nothing to change it.
Today I noticed my fear. I noticed how my irrational and exaggerated fear can stop me from following my dreams and even from having a good time in so many situations.
I am trembling at the thought of failing in the eyes of those that I appreciate and admire.
I am afraid to get a cute little cat. I fear the responsibility, the destroyed furniture, the effort I will want to invest and the possibility of me getting tired and wanting to quit. The possibility of losing the tiny cat because I was not able to take care of her.
I fear her cute meows waking me each night.
I am terrified of her fragile little hair floating around, getting in my food and my lungs. I heard a story of someone having to get surgery because he inhaled cat hair and now it was damaging his lungs.
Today I noticed I really wanted a cat. I noticed my fear. Today I noticed I am not ready to get a cat.
Today I noticed the color of wine brought to life by a dancing candlelight. The smooth bitter-sweet taste of dark-red wine and the overwhelming cherry wood scent emanating from a thin crystal glass. I could feel my wet lips slowly enjoying the comfort of the cold beverage. My tongue swimming in delight and a fine kick emerged when alcohol enveloped my senses. I marveled in the shivering flame steaming a beam of light through the drink.
I noticed the quiet night, the wind hollowing from a distance, moving my translucent curtain in uneven waves, lively crickets and insects having the time of their life in the deserted park below my opened window.
Today I noticed a fantastical computer game. I noticed the attention to detail and the tremendous work needed for completing this new magical world. I noticed how I could control my character: make him enjoy fried eggs and bacon at sunset, command him to dance with a beautiful girl and listen to sweet nothings whispered in his ear, make him climb the highest mountain and stand against the angry wind at the edge of a rock. I could make him jump and die a bloody death. No repercussions. Regardless of the action I forced him to take, there was always a possibility to reload the game and fix any bad choices.
I wanted to believe that it is marvelous to live such a fantastic life, to have no stress, to accept any decision dictated to you, to be immortal and be able to rewind and repair any mistake you make. Then I asked myself: Is it worth losing your free will in order to achieve immortality? I answered: No!
Today I noticed chips. I noticed the salty, crumbly, delicious, dry chips smashing in my mouth and offering me the satisfaction of destroying them with my sturdy molars. I noticed the unnatural whiff, coming of a plastic bag and I thrived in it. I allowed every single one of my taste buds to feel the pleasure of the sandy fake aroma and ravish my senses.
I cracked them, chewed them and devoured them until their vengeful offspring chips crumbles assaulted my desk.
I thanked the chips inventor for his service.
Then, carefully, I collected every single small, insignificant and worthless crumble and discarded all in my trash, without remorse.
The crumbles are withering memories of the fun I had today with my chips and the only reminder that I need is my own conscience.
Today I noticed the horrible feeling of being tired. Waking up with my heart racing and my own pulse galloping loudly my ears. I had to rip myself apart from a cozy dream and collapse into my life. While my phone’s alert was crying out in real world, I was doing the same în my vision and my imaginary hands were grasping the green grass from my slumber, hoping to bring a piece of bliss in the mundane day of work I had to enter soon.
I was not able to hold to my dream, no matter how hard I struggled. And yet again I vowed to myself to accept earlier bedtime hours even if I knew I was going to break my own promise.
Today I noticed cleaning. Since I started feeling the Covid effects în my country (Romania) and decided I was not going to get sick, I started cleaning. This is not the normal cleaning you will usually do during your routine. I started to embrace the new way of life, involving a little bit of obsessive cleaning. I believe that this is now a necessity rather than a compulsion. I decided for myself to have dry hands even if I use hand creams, over use soap and water (still sorry for my earth and my budget), avoid touching any surfaces, online shopping and staying indoors.
Crazy or not, we are facing weird times and I’ve not been outside of my one bedroom apartment in two months and I think I will keep doing this happily for the sake of weak people în general and for my own sake. And with this in mind I noticed ordering groceries today.
Opening the door, paying, relocating my food in the bathroom.
Feeling the dirt, infected air, virus. Any clean surface is now a disaster.
Don’t touch face, every time I do this it’s itchy.
Dish soap, bags, trash, getting rid of the horrible possibility. Scrubbing, foam. Lots and lots of foam.
Store items into different locations and not touch them for a few days.
Foam, dirt, don’t touch face. Itchy nose.
I have to also clean some groceries to store în my fridge or freezer.
So much more soap, white puffy bubbles caused by it. I hope it does not get on anything else în my house.
Weary, work, bags are heavy. I am not sure when this is going to be over.
I keep working. No rest.
Finally the last item it is placed away and I should feel better. But I bring out the big guns out soon.
Antibacterial solution, cleaning alcohol finding and rubbing each door handle, floor, surface, bathroom, keys and wallet.
Did I forget anything?
Undressing, clothes în the washing machine and then, only then the blessed shower.
No more dirt, feeling better. Relax.
Today I noticed cleaning is not an easy task.
Today I noticed why I Write. Usually, I want to write. It's fun to be able to step into my own mind and discover the delightful imaginary worlds coming out to life on pages. But the genuine reason I write is not because I like it. I write because I need to.
When I am not writing, I feel like I am losing my true self. If I am not expressing my imagination, I am Nobody, floating in life without purpose or meaning.
There are days when writing is hard, when I am tired, I severely lack creativity or motivation and I am having an dreadful time forcing myself to write but if I don’t, my self-confidence drops drastically.
I write to be myself.