Pretending.

I woke up this morning feeling anxious as usual. I read a melancholy blog post about the ageing process, written by somebody who has shared the same span of ‘reality’ as me. I discovered that none of the usual visitors had dropped onto the blog overnight. The question of time and existence pressed itself into my mind again and I pushed at the door, as I usually do, expecting to find it locked, as it always is.

So did it give, just a little? A sense nudged me, a sense that seemed brief, although I can’t realistically use the term because it’s a wholly inappropriate adjective. ‘Brief’ implies time, and the sense was about timelessness. Whatever it was, it reminded me of seeing something out of the corner of my eye, but when I look, it isn’t there.

That’s the problem with language: it’s tied to this perception of reality; the tyranny of time invents it to explain and justify itself. Well, the sense was interesting, even though it can’t be explained. For a second, this version of me that appears to live by seconds felt a silent whisper that there are none. I wasn’t born on that date, I didn’t do this on this date, tomorrow won’t be another day. The whisper spoke of consciousness looking back into the illusion, and in that second, the being that I think I am felt the urge to laugh.

It appeared to be brief, like it or not. Maybe it was brief to me but not to itself, if you see what I mean. So now it’s off to pretend some more.