Inertia

 

Are you ok? She asked during dinner just now.
What? Err, yeah I’m ok. I lied.
Are you sure? You’ve been gazing at your plate for five minutes. She queried again. Mothers and their adamancy.
Yes, I think it’s my medication making me lose my appetite. I insisted. Another lie.

I left the table shortly after, barely touching the food. Though I must have at least tried to stare it down. Didn’t work.

It’s been a long long week. And it definitely wasn’t mine. Wasn’t my week at all. It was the kind that escalated quickly, got me in a sort of high, clouded all judiciousness and built up a sugary imagination of random possibilities.

Unconscious to the soaring elevation rallying the intense crash when I came down to a trampled reality of nothingness. 

I tried and I tried to write, but nothing is flowing coherently. I’m guessing the computer screen is not about to magically deliver life’s answers on love, sex, tears and messed up broken friendships. 

For hours now. I just end up getting distracted by some clip on YouTube, reading kooky interesting articles or replying a long awaited email that could have been done yesterday.

I should sleep. Long distance driving up north in the morning. Starting tomorrow I would be my mother’s personal slave and driver for the holiday. Plus, the rest of the week would be a nightmare of Eid celebrations. That should translate to: entertaining aunties who would be asking nosy questions about my personal life when all I really have the strength to do is curl up into a hole and rot.

Sigh.
Next week perhaps? Yes, next week it shall have to be. My eyes are heavy, I am really afraid to close them. You shall find out why, then.