Let It Happen Naturally

I used to think I was normal.

I get up in the morning, hating the sound of the alarm clock. I wonder how it went off so soon and why my dreams can’t feel longer. I get in the shower and try to interpret why my right foot was just a giant toe in my dream the night before. I rinse shampoo from my hair while I geographically plan out where I’d buy property in a handful of places around the world and how I would spend my time if I ever won the lottery. I wonder if I’ll be ready to poop before I have to leave for work and worry if the urge will strike in the middle of my commute. I wonder if it’s the day that a boss retires or gets injured or dies (I don’t wish the latter two, only wonder).

The rest of the morning is an absolute rush to make up for too much time spent daydreaming in the shower. No words are spoken. No television, no radio. Perhaps just the sound of running water from a sink or the shower behind thoughts of how terrible it is that I have to be somewhere and I’m forced to leave my loved ones.

My commute is quiet; just some low key music or news podcast or the sound of the road and breeze through the windows.

Then I arrive at work. Everyone is already settled in. They’re talking and asking questions. It’s loud. I just saw them fifteen hours ago. I showed up; I’m still there. Nothing’s changed. I am not on a plane to Rome to meet with a real estate agent to talk about buying an old farmhouse near Assisi; I did not win the lottery.

Sure, I can wake up early like the rest of them. But I want to let it happen naturally. And after it does, I want to quietly sit outside with a cup of coffee and watch tree branches gently sway in the soft, warm summer breeze while I imagine myself fulfilling my dreams.

Just let me be alone with my own thoughts for a little longer.

In my mind I beg for them to hush. We’ve got so many more hours to get through. There will be plenty of time for them to pollute the air with their mouth noise after lunch.

The sounds of all the how-are-yous and good-mornings over the years have made me realize I’m not normal. I’m not as advanced as they are. Their bodies and voices awake together when the alarm buzzes. They’ve shed their childhood dreams long ago and achieve daily goals of smiley faces and morning greetings. All while I grumpily think about what might be as I watch wasted water, time, and ideas circle the drain.

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