In times like this when premonitions of darkness lace my thoughts, I think it best to commit thought to paper.

I'm a bit tired of being a constant occupant of my mind, a stubborn tenant and the locus of experience. It's a drag.

I think about sleep
and air travel
and the insides of silent elevators, where you unknowingly, unfeelingly, glide up and down dark shafts.

These three things allow you to arrive at a new destination without the sense of having travelled.  They disturb the experience of time, and it's passing. They leave bits of time unattended, unaccounted for. Three hours vanish. Who knows where they went having escaped the merciless, brutal ticking of the clock.
A security lapse is a welcome breech.

Sleep is a strange thing. You are allowed to forgot the details. Who are you where are what day is it what time is it. It's a precious thing, that feeling of not knowing. And in times like this I wish I could hold on to it, prolong it, forget about remembering.

I wish I could discard hours at will. Well, the next eight hours are going to be an awful nuisance. I'll just pack them away, fold them neatly into a box. The next eight hours are dismissed. Slashed out off attendance sheets, punished for bad behaviour.

If you ask me, I think it's unfair that I have to exist all the fucking time or else not exist at all. What kind of all-or-nothing game is this? No room for negotiation. No toll free number to call and politely say - I'd like to exist Monday to mid-Wednesday and then again over the weekend. I'd like to take off the entire month of June.
One moment madam, let me transfer your call...