One day turned out to be the same as the next. The ceiling sat so heavily upon his thoughts that he considered how many more times he might continue to venture a foot from under the covers onto the pile of carpeting below. Could it be that this was still part of his dream? He could be whisked away into the next day beyond if he did not carefully consider his next move in terms of worth. What amount of compensation would the world be able to offer him in his present state of being? Say, a hundred dollars American for the day’s speculative efforts? The warmth of the covers was disturbed by the brief departure of his big toe sliding backwards along the bareness of the double mattress layer caked upon its frame. The soft impact and subsequent investigation in the area allotted by the hinge of his knee suggested no sign of slipper or rumble sock. Should he commit he wondered? The swirl of themes from the empty headed world of his dreams still posed their confusion. How easy he thought to take up flying once again to right the wrong of a mistaken route bouncing through the municipal power lines smashing the Cessna upon the highway? Wasn’t it common knowledge that with the benefit of simple tricks like learning to focus on some available part of your nocturnal form that you could realize the fact that you were dreaming? Stare at your palm and learn to recognized that when you see it unexpectedly that you are really asleep. Easier said than done of course! Another thing on that long list of capabilities youth took for granted and age had a devil of a time recalling.
He moved incrementally and noted that the sheets below him felt clammy to that part of him that allowed a draft to pour in from the lifted covers . It was April but the weather was still undecided if it would follow the old patterns of moderation or give the lion of March a go for its title of intemperance. The swimming pool was always cold when you first jumped in and that meant your only hope was to thrash those arms as violently hard in a crawl to overcome its thermal shock. The floor beside the bed seemed more problematic. One the covers were shed from his garment poor torso there would be that customary short search for the sanctuary of a jumbled shirt or trousers. One might have postulated a Terrycloth robe to him but his response would have noted that it only would prolong the agony. The point of no return was reached now as the circumstances of how he had found himself a pilot began to waver. The real world awaited him. “Real?” The muscles of his back relaxed their imminent tension. This day was unsure like all days. He would rise to his feet scramble about the room for a covering. Then swiftly make his initial oblations to the porcelain goddess. Stagger to the kitchen to fill his lime encrusted coffee pot with the water filter switch engaged. Rush to shake out three spoonfuls from the muzzle of the cylindrical tube shaped container into a paper filter. And reassemble these components hopefully with the due desperation of an expert on the bomb squad.
The big toe had been recovered and the covers tightly reset. There was nothing urgent that couldn’t wait an additional five minutes. No imminent sneak attack detected by a foreign power. No eight-thirty morning meeting where the entire department was required to show up on time. The house was not on fire because in point of fact he was in a high rise condo. Everything defeated his initiative to commit to further progress. The Rolodex of days of the month quickly spun a turn but did not land on the convenience of an excuse of the present tense of today being a Sunday. Though he shunned the idea of thinking too hard on the topic he was quite sure it was a weekday. The strange sad looking little men from the deep mental shadows of night were still detectable by the edge of the field with the thralls that the had gathered from the huts of the unsuspecting villagers. Where did that come from? The ceiling came into his view again as he had turned back from the edge of the bed to the flat of his back with the covers tucked tight around his neck. Little men of several different varieties danced about in the shade of the orbits of his eyes just out of the reach of the morning light streaming into the glass of the twin orbs of sight. They were on the edge of remission and a decision on his part was equally imminent as the former expedition of his toe. One false move and they would simply disappear.
How strange that the mind was so brittle? The current world of broadcasting allowed for the capture of any drama and the possibility of its reprise on Netflix. His mind was not so commercial a steel trap. The little characters had disappeared in the instant of that mental reflection. He hadn’t been fast enough to box them in and make a conscious mental scribble. “Nic, nic poppa nic, banana rama popa nic!” He needed to make that association faster. Next time! The bed seemed to tilt under him sliding his bulk onto the carpet. He landed in an awkward crouched position expanding his arms from his chest minding the possibility of a crick in his back as he offered his mortal being to the cold. The effort to shimmy within his T-shirt signaled the challenge that the day had finally begun. And without further thought, he was off to the races!