The Wake

Once outside I light a smoke, “Marlboro No. 27”, and its tobacco is that which my brain might actually crave, wisp clouds pull depth from the blue and some water cascades down stairs leading to God—. No, only leading to Northrup but at least I’m looking and now I feel alive again, much less dead than this morning when upon waking I cursed the day. Next class is too close, too easy to find, too little time to waste walking and wishing I wasn’t going to class. Winter was a waste of time, for anyone looking for warmth, too few hours I spent sober, looking for warmth, and I find it here now in spring, far from it in fact, a tease of seasons and I’m already late for that class which was too close yet I found a longer way there, a longer way with time for more wishing, and another cigarette that I didn’t crave but had anyway. With more thoughts about winter and less about class I wish I had less to care about and someone to share that with, but all I have is the class I’ll walk to, and walk in late again. Stop and look around. I knew someone here, but not now, not this semester, it wasn’t spring then, or winter. It just was and I knew this class would be the same today as it was yesterday, but I still wish I wouldn’t have been here yesterday, but here today instead, but on time for once. But neither wish comes true and I sit in the back of the room and talk with a classmate and open the paper. Not reading, looking at lines of type on slimy paper that smear on my fingers, and the pictures in the paper that isn’t really all that important. I leave that classroom as I came in, sweaty and smelling of not spring but winter, where hot bodies warm hotter classrooms to the point of disgust. I walk home, in spring but not in rain, and not even in spring as I realize this can’t be true and isn’t. I’m thinking about too much and doing too little to make these thoughts stop, but it doesn’t bother me all the time, like now, but it bothers me in sleep. Or more it bothers me not in sleep, but in a struggle to sleep. A struggle last night I endured again, fighting fucked up dreams and uncomfortably I watched every hour pass. Until the day broke and I cursed its arrival again. Another Tuesday. Incredibly