When Wednesday Met Thursday

by Phoebe Lee Matthews

Darkness.
...was all I could see when Wednesday met Thursday. My timepiece indicated an incredibly foreign hour of the morning. Couldn't really understand my body's enthusiasm to meet the day. Neither could i comprehend why an ingenius and divine concept, such as sleep, could ever be this elusive. Pure in-

Sanity.
...is what I have in moderate amounts these days. A shame, that. 'Tis sanity that keeps most of us afloat, even in the most deplorable of conditions. And this very same trait, I lack. I dislike my insomnia-like moments with great intensity. It robs me of concentration. Retarded, i seem to be, for the better part of the day; and all thanks to the tiny men at war in my already delirious grey matter. Why all the strife, you ask? I'll never really know for sure, but i have some -

Ideas.
...Fulfillment, for one. I guess i'm never quite satisfied with each passing day. It seems like all i ever do is survive. Survive peer pressure, survive obligation, survive bureaucracy, survive iniquity. Next is wretched Conformity. To feel safe, to belong and all that balderdash. We've been taught to follow things blindly and we've all wound up stuck in waist-deep sludge. What a way to live. Barely...

Awake.
...I sullenly watch as my fingers drummed the table in an unsettled fashion. Still uncertain. Did the waist-deep sludge around me ooze out from my very own pores? Or was it just there all along, waiting innocently for some poor cretin to step in it, yell a string of inaudible curses - break into melancholy song ( i.e. Nobody Knows The Trouble I've Seen) and contemplate suicide simultaneously, whilst painfully submerging into the bottomless, tar-like puddle at a disgraceful rate of one centimeter per minute? Either way, I only have myself to blame for being here. Nevertheless, everything in me, the very essence that survives me, cries out to escape the System, to be my own person, to be contrary; different to the reeking normalcy of today's stale-tuna-sandwich culture. Tiny men at war in my head. Conformity Vs. Individuality. The bugle has sounded. The battle is -

ON.
...The bold word returned my blank gaze. I'd been fumbling around in the dark and a bump or two later, the lights had flickered on, swallowing the darkness that once engulfed my personal space. I remained in the deafening silence, eyes still getting accustomed to the shocking brightness that now illuminated every nook and cranny. My finger, still on the switch, lay motionless; frozen-like; as I stood stupefied at the single-syllabled word: ON. Right below was it's regal antonym, in similar print. OFF.

ON.
OFF.
ON.

...How feeble our faith. How feeble our lives. How great the Creator.

OFF.
ON.
OFF.

Darkness.
... was all I could see when Wednesday met Thursday, and when Thursday met Friday, when life met death, when train met tunnel. Just spaces void of -

Light.
... was all I could see as the tunnel approached its end - when life met eternity, when men met God.

Written January, 2006