It has been awhile since I’ve posted, but I assure you that I’m still alive, in every which way.
Things are going as they should. I wake up, find my arms and legs in place; face, cheekbones, chirping oiseaux outside the window. They sound happy, and I save the sound for sad times.
The washing machine; well-oiled and working. It whirs and I temporarily forget the birdsong. The whizzing traffic of metropolitan Europe is no different in this regard. I hear sounds only to forget others.
Sometimes, just before dozing into balmy oblivion, I catch my own sounds: beyond sticky blinks, throbbing chest, and measured breaths. Songs of my thoughts and sounds of their echoed endings, leaving me to muse in the choppy Memory Stew that dreams so often are.
I wake up, sifting through the pieces, as we so often do.
This has been a routine sanity check.
It is only a check.