The Worst Part of the Day

The worst part of the day is when your teeth are brushed and your hygienic tasks are completed. Your work is done and you brain can't handle any more badgering from the world. The laptop is in sleep mode and the cell phone alarm is set to 8 am. This is the worst part of the day because, in the dune of time left between midnight and falling into a nightly coma, you are faced to deal with yourself. It is in this span of time that you forget about time at all. 

You think about all the people you've talked to that day. You said good morning to the bus driver and you never saw him again. You split a lemon poppyseed muffin with your friend and you laughed together. You talked with the professor about his questionable teaching method. You explained to your cat that it's not proper etiquette to vomit into a food bowl. You said good night to your mother and texted bye to your lover and tweeted gnight world #peaceout. 

Now, torn from the rest of the world, you suffer a sinister isolation. The clock ticks forward because that's the only way it knows how to go. It is in this treacherous sliver of time that you are a slave of your mind. The mind pumps thoughts like a machine long after your physical strength is depleted like a wrinkled balloon. So you lie in a cottony web of deceased thoughts and feelings, unable to move. Everything is so gloomy, for the clustered stars are reminders of life's limits. And the ceiling is a slate of nothingness, a tabula rasa that's too far to reach. 

This is the daily ritual where you lull yourself to sleep through philosophical torment and realization that you are alone. It is you who is responsible for all that you do. You reluctantly see that, during the worst part of the day, you are your destiny.