I wake up in a body-warmed bed to a songbird’s chirping song and a wind chime’s gentle clang moments before the set alarm sounds. I check the progress of my garden growing herbs for future meals and mist topsoil carefully so as to not disturb tiny seeds. I play songs aloud on repeat the same as mornings lived through previously as water boils for green tea and everything is fine. I get dressed casually in sweater-knitted memories as kittens meow to say hello, they say hello to play. Two pieces of fruit for midday meals grabbed before shoes are slid onto feet before they walk out of a coral door and everything is fine. Few steps before an 18-minute heated-seat commute that takes 20 minutes with traffic while the soundtrack still plays commercial uninterrupted and everything is fine. Tea drank alone in an office that comes alive some later while a book is read a PDF on a company computer. I check my mail, I check my blog, I check my texts and social media, I respond I reply I dillydally and everything is fine. My attention drifts to work, to work I make enough to do, to work that pays enough to pay my bills, and to eat and play with too, and everything is fine.
My foot tap taps my mind drifts wanders the voices in the office are yelling such loud whispers and I think I ask myself am I doing well enough, although I know everything is fine. My mind’s a cloudy fog turned so by lacking daydreams that remind me I am stuck here and it’s weighted heavy crushing me but it’s alright because everything is fine. A day ends with a calm commute not much if any longer than before, and the same soundtrack is blasting, and the same seat is seat-warmed, and everything is fine. I walk back through the coral door and say hello to two kittens who want to eat before they play and I bend happily to their needs for I have none of my own because everything is fine.
I watch tv, live false lives, and plan for future dialogue in case there comes a time when a person asks unassumingly if everything is fine. It is – there’s nothing wrong. Not a single qualm worth mentioning, except I’m not enjoying very much of anything, but everything’s just fine. It’s fine it’s day-in day-out just first world problems like existential dread. It’s fine it’s fine it’s all moving right along: the calendar, the season shifts, and the ticking of the clock. It’s fine I’m well – I’m, well, I guess it’s hard to explain: the sailing has been smooth, and I’ve avoided most physical pain, but I am a tad too bored and having trouble remembering my name. But it’s all the same it’s all the same I have my health, clean water, and clothes on my back. It’s all the same and everything is fine, but fuck I wish that it was more than that.