I would like to thank you for allowing me to co-opt you for Awareness Week. I know that you had to sit through a lot of advice that doesn't pertain to you, because you aren't biological at all, but it was for a good cause and I know you like helping people so it works out for all of us.
To the humans: I am very appreciative of all of you who spent the time to read through Awareness Week posts and even more appreciative of those who shared them with others. Of course, just because Awareness Week is over doesn't mean that you can't share it anymore. If you think of somebody who might be able to use any of the advice given, please, please, please share it with them!
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Relax
The dull, incessant ticking of the second hand seemed to grow inexplicably louder with every little click. Growing and building on itself like some gluttonous monstrosity until it became so gorged it burst. Bursting would be good, I decided, then the damn thing would be quiet. It just never seemed to get to that point. Even as three o’clock in the afternoon rolled by in my dingy little colorless-themed cubicle, the seconds ticked on by louder and louder until they were a crashing roar in my head. The florescent tubes burned holes into the back of my brain, a harsh glow cast upon my dreary social prison.
I stared blankly at the computer screen, which had been frozen on a graph for the last hour and a half, a graph that I was supposed to clean up and present the next day. Briefly, I wondered if it was possible to get permission to go home if I mysteriously wound up with a staple in the middle of my forehead. The stapler whispered for me to give it a try. That was disconcerting. I ignored its pleas to taste human flesh and drummed my fingers on the unresponsive keyboard while I waited for someone from IT, whom I was beginning to become certain had been sucked into some interdimensional portal. Or was busy. One or the other.
“At least try it!” the hungry stapler grumbled irritably.
“I am not going to slam you into my forehead,” I told it sternly, and the office supply fell mercifully silent. The last thing I needed was someone to come by and wonder why I was talking to a stapler. I hate slow days.
All around me the tapping of keys rose up from beyond the flimsy excuses for walls that served as my three-sided cell. The sound drifted above the barriers and seemed to taunt me and my inoperable device. I considered threatening it again, but you can only mutter death threats to a computer so many times before it becomes weird, and I had easily surpassed that limit five minutes into the malfunction.
As I rocked back and forth in my squeaky office chair, content that any noise was better than the cacophonous roar of the passing of time, I looked around my desk and spotted the one welcome sight in the building: empty space. With nothing better to do, I rolled my chair over and folded my arms atop the only place I wanted to be and laid my head on them. My eyes fluttered closed almost immediately, the backs of my eyelids a much needed respite from the unnatural glare of modern lighting.
A couple years ago I had learned a neat relaxation technique called visualization. You imagine yourself somewhere relaxing and inviting. Somewhere you would vacation perhaps, or somewhere that appeals to you. Little by little, you add in more details until it almost feels like you are there. It is a wonderfully helpful tool for me, but not one I have many opportunities to practice. If ever there was a time though, this was it.
Mine is a little different from the normal destinations of a warm sandy beach or a deserted island or a clearing in the middle of a forest. I like to picture myself floating on a bed in a warm tropical sea on a clear summer’s night. So I did.
I took in a deep breath. The saline perfume wafted into my head and brought a proto-smile to my previously tense lips. I could nearly taste the salt in the air as I took my next breath, the smell pervading my senses and surrounding me in a cocoon of inviting briny fragrance. The teasing aroma grew more tangible as I inhaled a third time, and this time I really could taste the froth of seawater dancing on my tongue like some pleasantly stinging ephemeral jellyfish.
Now I envisioned the bed. My back resting on a silky puffy comforter, my head on a gooshy foam pillow. I could feel the back of my head sinking down into the foam, the walls of the indentation pressing ever so light against the sides of my head, mashing my hair against my skull in a tender caress. With my hands folded on my chest, the silken feel of fabric against the backs of my legs, I stretched out as far as I could, never quite reaching the end of the bed, which was always the perfect length.
The drone of the clock faded away, graying out until the obnoxiously boisterous ticks became lost in the swelling sound of water licking at the sides of my bed. The gentle sea lapped at the sheets hanging down, splashing fairy droplets onto my upturned face, causing the strength of the smell to undulate with each diminutive wave. Somewhere in the distance, a gull cried out and was met with a chorus from its family. A splash far away signaled a breaching whale. The salty sloshing sea murmured all about me, echoing for eternity in every direction around my cozy raft, with only nature surrounding my floating island sanctuary.
Finally, with all the other senses in place, I opened my eyes. My heart leapt in my throat as a vivid, moonless night sky stretched before me. Thousands of pinpricks of light shimmered and winked down at me. A vast band of dust streaked across the horizon, cleaving the dark, star-spotted veil clean in two. Small smudges could be found nestled in between the brilliant luminous balls, distant realms far, far away from my perfect isolation. I could pick out the constellations hanging above me, and traced their outlines with an outstretched hand as though I were painting them in place for all to see, though this would be for my own private gallery. As I did, a fiery streak glowed white-hot as it crossed the twilight dome in a glorious, short-lived burst that left a green afterimage burned into my vision, flitting across my sight like a playful wraith.
The last thing to do was let go. Part of me was still thinking about my report, was still wondering when the damnable IT kid would show up to fix my malevolent computer. I knew what to do though. I took my hands and placed them as though I were cupping a small ball. Focusing intensely, I imagined all of my worries, all of my concerns, everything from the life outside of my pocket universe, and put it in a bubble. I watched as a small spark lit up smack-dab in the middle of the void between my palms and slowly grew into a perfect, glassy sphere with a shimmering surface painted with images from the life I was about to release into the ether.
Raising my head up off the pillow, I leaned forward with my lips almost pressed to the thin film of reality, and lightly blew on the weightless orb, watching as it drifted away higher and higher toward the dust lanes of the Milky Way until I blinked and could no longer see it. There was an empty feeling in my chest where once a knot the size of an office building had once sat. The pit was soon filled by a torrent of beauty from the world around me, crashing in and washing away the last vestiges of anxiety and apprehension, leaving me perfectly satisfied to drift endlessly through the infinite ocean of my new home, with only the sea life and the far-flung heavenly bodies to keep me company. What I am now is a lone witness to all of this stunning, radiant beauty. And really, you can’t get any better than that: a familiar, comfortable place to take in the breathtaking scenery. A place to just…relax.
Your mildly benevolent wordsmith, Andrew
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