“There's Always Tomorrow”
Oct 14, 2019The dizziness was driving him crazy. He couldn’t stand straight. He couldn’t sit straight. Even lying down felt like he was on a ship out at sea. It was particularly bad today. Maybe it was the caffeine. Maybe it was the anxiety he woke up with.
He lay in bed a while, knowing he needed to eventually get up and be a productive member of society. He hadn’t been one of those in over a year, and his girlfriend was starting to get really pissed about supporting him. Why the hell was she even with him? Because she’s a fucking saint, he thought. And because of my big cock.
“Planning on getting out of bed today?” she asked from the kitchen. She had been awake and productive for three hours already.
“I plan on getting out of bed every day,” he said.
“Well you do a shit job of it.”
“I know. And I’m sorry.”
“Your sorries don’t pay the bills.”
“I’m very aware of that.”
He sipped his coffee, slurping loudly enough for her to hear it across the room. The joke was on him, though, as he knew disgusting noises annoyed him more than her. The joke was always on him.
The blanket covered him up to his chin. He was warm and he knew the chill would go through his bones as soon as he pulled the blanket off. One more good stretch to crack his joints. Do it like a bandaid. So he threw the blanket off, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and sat up.
Sitting up was the worst part of the process. He could feel the cacophony in his inner ear, the swishing of liquid and rattling of crystals, or whatever was going on in there. He read about his symptoms every day, all day, all night, but he never retained the knowledge. It was there to comfort him in the moment, not to be retained. His head felt like it was filled with air and liquid and plasma and tumors and anxiety personified. A war inside, a tug of war. One side pulling him to his feet, one side pulling him back down, neither side having any real investment either way. They were just metaphorical characters who didn’t understand their existence was based solely on his being alive. If he was gone, they would be gone. If, however, they realized their existence depended on him feeling lousy, they would do whatever possible to keep him in this state. The worse he got, the more powerful they would be.
He sat for a few seconds as the contents inside his head swished around and settled. It felt safe enough to stand. Maybe today would be a good day. He started walking toward the kitchen.
“Glad to see you’re up,” said his girlfriend with a smile.
He smiled back and the anxieties got wind of it. How dare he ignore us! they screamed in unison. The war resumed. His head began sloshing and wobbling. His smile faded and he groaned.
“Goddammit,” he said. The smile on his girlfriend’s face faded as she watched him walk back toward the bed, crawl on top, and pull the covers over his head.
There’s always tomorrow.