waking up

Waking up every day, time escapes me like steam when the lid is lifted from a boiling pot. There is no stopping it, and no returning it. It dissipates; absorbed into its surroundings, invisible, immemorable.

I've lost a week now. I have to turn down the heat before I scald the pan.

* * * * *

I woke up to smoke. The alarm was going off. My body tensed, then released into adrenalized movement. I sprung downstairs to find the situation in hand, my girlfriend and her mother waving their arms, opening windows and covering their mouths. She - mom - had turned a pot of water on to boil and left the house.

It was Sunday - sabbath. I had been napping, catching up on lost sleep from a long week. I cannot remember what I did that week, but it had been busy enough to fly by unthreatened and unquestioned.

Until now.

Finally, now. I was here NOW. Aware, alert, alive. There was no more steam - things were starting to burn. The heat had to be stopped.