upon waking

A couple of mornings ago I was awoken by one of my children calling for me. I had been in the middle of a dream, but I was aware of the fact of my dreaming. When the little voice penetrated into my awareness within the dream, I said with a sigh, "that's fine, I am tired of this dream anyway." Immediately I was fully awake and I jumped out of bed easily (I hate getting up, easily is never a word I would use to describe getting up on a typical morning). I was grateful for the interruption.

Everything about me lately is encapsulated in that tired sigh, that feeling of being done with this, that desire for something to penetrate into one kind of lucidity and break it up by introducing another, stronger clarity. I want to leap out of this bed, and yet, I also want to stay asleep, unconscious, as long as possible. I can only face this kind of fatigue through a haze of one kind or another.

I am flailing about aimlessly, trying to hide the fact that I am so tired and yet so aware. Everyone seems convinced by my sleep-walking portrayal of life. I operate with the lucidity of my half-dreaming half-waking self, and although the haze surrounds almost every waking thought, no one else seems to notice it. Even those who know my particular pain seem to trust it as a kind of clarity or guiding force; they seem to believe it is the center. I know that there is no center. I know that yours is the name I give to the margins that encircle every coming and going.

They all believe that this state will wane and wane until, suddenly, without warning almost, I will stand up and stride steadily into some other future. You, most of all, believe this. You must: it is the only way you can bear your own tired race. But can I believe that, too? Where would such a belief find anchor here? All of this ground is for treading along, not for finding security or sanctuary. Anyway, I'm so tired of this endless shambling about and rambling on.

Just imagine it: who would I be upon that other waking? Would you be there with me...near me...for me? Your voice represents both a part of the haze and the longed for clarity. I stride toward it constantly in my mind, like a hamster in its wheel or a chubby girl on the tread mill. I walk and walk and get nowhere nearer. I walk and walk and get nowhere farther.  I am as tired of this dream as I am of this waking. Always the same, every time, all the time. Sigh. Yawn. Walk on, walk on.