October's lullaby

Like a lightswitch, it flicked on in my head and I was bright awake a few minutes shy of 6AM. The light outside looked weird, as if stained with the wrong colours. My blurry eyes made out the thick fog flowing through the city buildings. Vacant offices. Snoring residents. Simultaneous yellow lights at a crossroad. It seemed like Heaven came down on us, or the piece of Australian land brought up to the clouds. All of this happening while we were in a dreamworld. Literally, we were in a dreamworld.

I have not the mood for this. The island can sink down into the Pacific Ocean for all I care. I just want to sleep. Other than being called awake while I was still sleeping, I hate it that I am awake when I just want to go to sleep. Waking up at the shrill rings of my alarm clock, I have gotten used to. But waking up at that silent clap of my biological clock, that is just ridiculous. Wake me up when September ends. I am awake, alright.

Days have been bad since September left. Hours felt a little left to center. Food tasted awful in my tongue. Stories like a foreign babble in my head. Normalcy seemed abnormal. Tears cried easier than a tilt of the lips. And my only escape is sleep. Sleep away the painful minutes. Sleep away the wrongs. Wake up anew. Wake up with a shred of yesterday's memory forgotten, lost. Like an amnesia. Anything to make it through the day.

6AM. My mind ran like a jogger sprinting through the parks. So awake. I need a lullaby. A repetitive lullaby of dreamy pianos. Voice of a comforting father. "Do what you must do, to fill that hole. Wear another show, comfort the sole." Whisper of a consoling mother: "Don't weep. My sweet." And that strange works of an usual instrument. A bowl that sings. Word has it that in the Tibetan culture, the singing bowl calms the tired and troubled and sad souls. Put them to sleep. Put me to sleep.

I woke up to my alarm at 9.30AM. Awake. Dazed. Not really there. I went to school for the first time since the beginning of my break. The place I have been going every week for almost two years, suddenly seemed foreign to me. And I forgot why I like hanging out in that place so much. I ordered my usual take away Latte. The nice manager took my order, knowing what I would order. I am a regular. And for the first time, asked me how was my day. Why trouble a stranger? "It's been good." When actually, it has not.

I had coffee with a cigarette. And made it to class in time to do a presentation for a book proposal I have not even finished. All of these with my contacts too dry in my puffy eyes. Spaced out when someone commented on the original piano man, Billy Joel. The conversations spun too quickly and by the time I realised who he was - "Sing us a song, you're the piano man" - I know who he is, the time to say "Oh, him!" has passed.

Tonight. Instead of alcohol, maybe just tea to put me to sleep. Reading The Dirty Beat. Listening to Sleep Don't Weep and the straining singing bowl.

Bono was wrong. Sometimes, you have to make it on your own.