4 weeks sober

it is one of those days where everything feels very heavy. my eyelids, my head, my organs, my arms and hands and fingers and fingernails and cells and cytoplasm and golgi bodies. it's all weighing me down. i'll shake it off and leave the cells and fingers and organs underneath my bed with the dust mites and crumpled gum wrappers. i'll keep my eyelids though so i can close my eyes and ascend into the lucid sky as a transparent, aerial spirit free of temporal baggage. i'll remain there until i inhale enough of the unstained sky to fill my squalid lungs that i left under the bed. i'll watch the earth and develop a charitable empathy for all the little people, each doing his or her very best to find what fulfills their little lives and validates each polluted little breath they intake. then i'll close my heavy eyelids and descend to those cumbersome body parts and proceed with my cluttered, selfish existence.

i feel sad for the sun. i imagine he is sweetly attempting to reach his encouraging beams into this listless dungeon but is rudely interrupted by the murky window, creating a muted, somber aura absorbed by the barren cement walls.

my flight leaves soon but i am sitting, unshowered and undressed, in the middle of this godforsaken apartment writing nonsense about golgi bodies and a personified sun. i don't know if it is prudent to use the term "godforsaken" but it is entirely too appropriate to replace with a less relevant synonym.

my new favorite work: copacetic
it's not even in the Microsoft Word dictionary.