Ache.

by Lillian Olson

Sinking I don't know what day of the week it is or what month it is or the season. It could be Tuesday, but if you told me it was Sunday I wouldn't be surprised. The days don't feel different anymore, they have no defining scent or flavor. I only knew my days by test dates and due dates and I only knew the season by the next holiday break. Now the days come and go as a rotation, simply the movement of the earth and the light of the sun or the moon. In school, I was always accomplishing something, always working towards something. There was forward motion and finished assignments were like the passing trees on a highway. Milestones and markers. Now there is no highway and there are no trees. I made my final stop and now I am walking circles; get up, go to work, complete a menial activity, go to sleep. Some days consist only of sleep, a menial activity or two and then sleep again. There is no moving forward. This is where I am and my goal is not to achieve forward motion. It is to be comfortable in my stasis. I realized while driving to work the other day that this is it. This is the rest of my life, the fruition of my maturity into adulthood. The days are short, too short to do much of anything. I sleep more than I exist in awareness and even when I am awake, I move through my day like a dream. Images will flitter through my mind, and I will wonder if it was a waking memory of the day before, or if it belonged to a dream. I...