I think that when life gives you lemons you should crush them between your fucking palms and feel that waxed skin slide through your fingers as you squeeze that little acidic bitch like a medicine ball, just to show your strength and power as a human being.
Or you could just make lemonade. Either works.
I climb into a pile of blankets pillows and sheets. I check my phone one last time and shut off my light. After laying there for what seems like hours, pondering the day and the tomorrow, I close my eyes and prepare to sleep. My brain and my body begin to relax, and I feel each part of my being shut down limb by limb. I feel my brain flicker in and out of reality as it realizes that it’s time to close up shop for the night.
Through this hour long process of falling asleep, my limbs twitch as I begin to dream, interrupting any progress my brain had made in it’s preparation to recharge. I sleep with a pillow on each side of my body and one underneath my head, smearing my leftover makeup from the day. I toss and turn trying to find a comfortable position. My spine feels broken and bent, and I can only turn my neck so far until it begins to feel as if a rubber band is about to snap. I settle on my side for now.
I am not a deep sleeper in the slightest. I dream vividly and lucidly, and the next morning I will remember every detail that coursed through my head. I will remember every color, face, and place as if I were there in reality. It is my favorite part about sleep. Through the night I will dream many times, but I will toss and turn many more. By morning I will have ended up on my back. This is almost always the case when I sleep alone, and the supine position is never a good thing.
Sunlight will shine through my cheap blinds. I know that it’s about 9 o’clock, and I can feel the sun beating through the thin skin of my eyelids beckoning me to wake up. My brain begins to function first. “It’s time to start the work day,” it tells me. I start to hear the sounds of cars and birds outside. I begin to taste the leftover peppermint in my mouth from brushing my teeth the night before. I can even smell my sheets, the soft smell of lavender fabric softener mixed with sweat.
All of this and no movement. My body is not ready. I can see the back of my eyelids, and I can feel myself desperately trying to open them. I try to stay calm and attempt to move my arm with no luck. I am awake and ready to stumble out of bed, but it could be minutes, even hours, until my body decides it’s ready to wake up too. I am paralyzed here, and I begin to panic thinking about suffocating under my blankets, or that someone is standing there in my room. My chest is tight now, my breathing is shallow, and I tell myself to relax and wait.
So I wait. And wait.
There are few times that I am able to force myself to move, jolting myself upward gasping for breath. But those are rare occasions, and as usual I have to have patience in this weak state. Sometimes I must wait so long that I fall back asleep in hopes that in an hour or so my body will be ready to join the rest of my system in waking up. I cannot roll over and my body becomes stiff, so I continue this waiting game in whatever way I can.
Finally I am up. My eyes open slowly, and I see the cracked white ceiling of my bedroom. My muscles strengthen and I can finally move. It is a horrific way to wake up, but it is then that I feel the most free. I lift my head off of the pillow and kick my legs sideways. I walk away from captivity feeling weary, knowing that I will be there again the next night to start the entire process over.