Friction

I wake up in the morning with the need to know the time: my hand hunts for my phone, my eyes gasp for air, and four digits of visual data gets registered in my head. Although my memory insists that I must rise from my bed and head towards the bathroom, I instantly consider disobeying and suppress that thought for a moment with the back of my neck crying a rhythmic, acoustic pop. Here I realize that friction has begun.

I also realize that I must have dreamed geometry. I enter the bathroom and start cleaning my surface area, the diameter of my eyes increase with every drop of water. Around the drain, I see a pi. This makes me hungry; it's time to make up for my subcutaneous neglect.

Out on the streets my shoes drag along the cement blocks. In traffic my car breaks more often than it accelerates. My boss at work hurts my brain with cognitive dissonance while the white characters on my black notebook keyboard slowly start to fade.

At last, friction ends with sleep. In my dream, I measure the hypotenuse of the wedges protruding from the earth. I examine myself surprised to see some wedges of my own. Like a toothed wheel, I am but a small mechanism that performs a specific function in a complete machine. I suppose knowing where I belong should lessen this friction. However, I must engage in order to function, even if it means grinding my teeth to better fit the other wheels.

  • Posted by chanhee
  • January 24, 2008
  • TOP
Commented on July 28, 2011 (3:53 am)

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Commented on July 25, 2011 (6:59 am)

Now I feel stpuid. That's cleared it up for me

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