understanding the low pulse

i stretch myself in the morning, but it doesn't help, i'm still crumpled and wrinkled from my sleep. my bones seem to stick together these days as if i'm becoming, one, completely and independently solid entity. what happened to fluidity? i try not to worry too much about the slump my crescent backed self is so drearily dipping into. periods of speed and periods of slowness are to be expected. and so i try to embrace it, only i'm too tired for even that.

i examine myself in the mirror. pull my pajamas from my clingy skin and let the air chill me. i put on a bra, an act that tells me in a very direct way, that the day is officially starting and i'm officially going to greet this life. bracing the breasts is an easy way to feel instantly more apart of an organized and neat day. the bra neatly tucks the breasts in place and fluidity is replaced by metal wire support. yes, this is better.

i look at my face. i wish for a moment that i had stubble to shave. nothing seems to strip you of your sloven state like a good shave. a freshly shaved man appears as if he's got it together, has a firm grip on reality and is in total, happy control of his life. it's written on his face. of course, i should be happy that i don't have a beard, seeing that i am a woman. but the physical act of the symbolic representation is what i'm after. lately i've been feeling just a bit unkempt and this bra is only helping a little.

perhaps it's a life choice. indeed it must be. my mornings are the same. get up, make coffee and write. after the coffee is done, continue writing, breaks for tea and bathroom use only. sometimes i don't brush my teeth until the afternoon. and here's the thing, with the exception of my dental hygiene, i like my habits and my routines. at least, until this morning. it's as if i split myself among different worlds. there's my waking life, the life that supports my other lives. it goes out and it works, it socializes when it can and it takes notes, makes observations and gains experiences. then there's my dream self, sleeping away and running rampant with illogical scenes and uncontrolled emotions. it's a beautifully free self...sometimes. finally there's the writer self that takes the observations of the waking self and the freedom and imagination of the dream self and spins them into these pieces of art that give me happiness.

the danger in all this is, of course, that sometimes the dream self and the writer self overwhelm the waking self. suddenly i feel sluggish, like i have stubble covering my face from where i've neglected my appearances to the outside world. my introspection is perhaps pulling me too far from the outside world and while this can be a good thing, too much can be negative.

and so, what do i do? well, since this feeling has only come about within the last two days, i'll give myself time to come out of it. i know that my other selves have been neglected before and that things end up coming back into place eventually. and so, i will enjoy this day off from work and this quiet and paddle through the magical waters of my dreams.