When left to my own devices, I think that "odd" is well. Floating, flying as a fluttering feather, but my mind doesn't seem to mind. Inside out and upside down, everything is in it's place, but out of place it seems. Ceiling, then glass, blurred post, cloth barrier that confines me to open spaces. I wait.
I grumble, and pull my eyes as high as they'll go. The machine preempts the man in the blue shirt. "I'm on vacation." Like radio words filtering through, they slide by me like a stream. Distraction. On task, again. Yet, nothing is on task, really. Can it be? I question. Everything at first, but then realize that's absurd. I let go. It feels good, even if it's too soon.
Oh well.
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