Peaceful Headache

The sun shines through the window.  The dirt and hand prints on the glass illuminated.  It dazzles my eyes.  When I close them to take a moment, I can still see the handprints and jagged lines.  I stick a finger into the corner of my eye.  Rubbing and scratching.  A little bit of sleep stuck to the end of my finger.  Slightly black and blue, evidence from last night’s adventures not completely washed away.  A deep breath.  The thud of my heart, slow and steady.  The clock ticking.  The second hand spasming.  A click ticking with the last spurts of battery life.  Slowly dying.  The hum of a fridge.  I roll my head in circles, stretching my neck.  Imagining scenes from the Amalfi coast.  If only.  Sunglasses and red lipstick, a summer hat and time to slowly rub my neck with coconut oil as I leaf through a fashion magazine.  Not that it’s bad here.  The 30 degree days with blue sky and few clouds littered around, occasionally giving rest from the sun, they’re beautiful.  It’s not as easy to relax when you’re at home though.  It just takes some conscious effort.  The light flickers as the sun moves further across the sky, hitting the window through the gum leaves.  A peaceful vibe.  The trees dancing in a light wind.  As if basking in the sunlight.  A joy in the air.  An ease.  

A hand crawls across my face.  The nails are dirty and fingers black.  It digs into my temples and buries its way inside my skull.  Rummaging its way between my forehead and brain, occasionally pushing on little points.  The top of my skull, a shooting pain.  The temples, a dull ache.  The front of my cranium, a throbbing and dusty, mirky spiders web.  A fog.  I can’t see.  There’s something in my way.  I can’t think.  I’m wading through water.  Feet sinking into mud.  Gumboots aren't tall enough, they don’t even reach up to my knees.  I walk.  And the water rises.  I want to get to the other side.  There’s a moment, when I think I’ll make it.  Yet, just a moment and it’s gone.  A slip and gulp, splash and spit as the water gushes around me.  It pushes me back, pushes me down.  And eventually pours over the edge filling my boots to the brim.  Now walking through mud with 5 kilo boots at the bottom of the stilts one could call my legs.  Shaking.  Frustrated.  Confused.  I try to get my feet out of the boots but they seem stuck.  I look up and back.  And the river disappears.  I’m standing on a picnic rug.  Am I?  With a basket next to me.  I’m young.  I’m not quite sure.  The fog tightens and hand squeezes my brain.  Another shooting pain, this time to the right of my skull.  I wonder if there are bugs crawling.  The sky is white.  The girl just stands there.  A picnic rug, a faded hillside, and white skies.  Where are we?  She turns.  Looks at me.  No expression.  What’s she waiting for?  Her hair is red.  She’s just waiting.  Searching.  She’s searching in my eyes.  I furrow my brows.  What’s going on.  My hands reach up to rub my temples.  The breeze.  The sunlight.  The trees.  My stomach rumbles.  The clock ticking has faded, to be replaced by a whining in my ear.  More evidence of the adventures of last night.  A beat.  I feel tired.  The hand is pushing down on my brow.  I want to sleep.  Everything seems to exist through a fog.  The trees are dancing this Sunday afternoon and I can feel the peace between them, though through a fog.  Or perhaps I’m the only one in a fog.  A bird calling out.  A little crick of my neck.  A cough.  A sigh.  A question of what to make for dinner, or whether to go to bed without.  Will this peace continue?  Is this real?  Who knows what’s real.  Nothing is real, really.  What does real really mean?  Reality.  Real.  My reality, your reality.  Is it really running away if you feel you belong somewhere else?  Is it running if you find your peace?  People might not understand but in your reality it’s acceptable.  Does it matter if you’re running away? 

My neck is sore.  My body is yearning for rest.