By Jay St John Knight.
Today’s the day. Liberation from this quilted prison of undulating sheets and pillows. Emancipation from this reclusive envelope of solid planes that I call home. I’m going to do it. I’m going to place my hand firmly on the handle to my front door and break the seal, burst through into the real world; actually feel the invigorating glow of sunlight on my skin that’s not been diffused and mediated through the barrier of my double glazed windows. I’m going to walk the beating; breathing streets bathed in golden light and not be a ghostly ethereal refraction watching from a prison of glass. I’m going to stand outside and feel the crystalline, cold rain on my bare face; feel the wild and unrelenting breeze tussle through my hair. I’m going to run through the heaped up autumnal drifts of bronze and auburn leaves I can see in the park from my window; trudge across the open grass lawns after its rained, spraying mud up my trousers and caking my shoes in wet earth. I’m going to do it. I’m going to walk up the road to the pub, stroll up to the bar with a beaming smile, proud as an Oscar winning actor, and order a drink without having the barman stare at me like I was talking some alien language of guttural stops and starts. I’ll walk down to the beach; kick off my shoes, then pull off my socks and stand at the shoreline as the freezing cold waves lap over my toes, watching the foam of the sea ebb and flow before me. I’m going to hop between rock pools with bare, sandy feet and carefully upturn stones to find crabs that I’ll pluck out of the water with my fingers pinched behind their ears. I’ll stand on the rocks that jut out into the ocean and feel the tempest of the sea against me; the minute specks of spray from the frosted tips of the waves gathering like drops of perspiration on my cheeks and clouding my eyes. I’m going to do it. I’m going to get up early one morning and clamber up the headland that I can see from my window rising up above the rooftops; I’ll watch the first rays of dawn creep across the landscape like a fist uncurling and sip steaming tea from the heavy, blue flask that gathers dust at the back of my cupboard. I’m going to shatter this safe and comfortable microcosm that I have built up around me, my bubble within a bubble. I’m going to do it. I will do it. Maybe tomorrow.