Control: A Missed Day

I, Dalton Lewis, didn’t blog yesterday. I woke up at two pm with my mom telling me to wake up and change and brush my teeth and brush my hair. I lay down for another ten minutes and then got up. I didn’t want to get up — I wanted to sleep, to escape, to get away from the world for a bit. I wanted to get away from the grind for a bit. I sluggishly rose from the couch. I changed clothes and brushed my teeth and took my meds and grabbed a soda and a water.

“Brush your hair,” Mom said.

I brushed my hair. I do what Mom says when she tells me to do something. That’s what good sons do.

We drove over to the therapist, Lyle. I walked in and waited five minutes for him to be ready. He walked me into the office with a smile.

“So did your dad die?” I asked. I wasn’t subtle.

“Yeah,” he said. “I took some time off, and now I’m ready to be back to work.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Thanks,” he said. “How’s life?”

“Blogging every day,” I said. “250 views, 120 reads for the month. Blogging’s going well.”

“The novels?”

“Still not selling well,” I said. “I’m working on the blog, but it isn’t translating into novel sales, into money, not yet.”

I didn’t know what to say. His dad died — his world was crushed, and he was back at work, helping me with my paranoid schizophrenia. He was back to work. The world kept going after his dad died. I didn’t know what to say. The world didn’t seem to care.

“And the gaming?”

“I’m fifth in my platinum league at Starcraft 2,” I said. “It looks like I won’t win my league.”

“Fifth is good,” he said. “That sounds good.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m frustrated that I’m not better.”

“Fifth is good,” he said. “And the religious novel?”

“It’s not happening right now,” I said. “I’m debating what to work on. The sci-fi novel is fun but I don’t know.”

“Maybe you need to finish something,” he said. “Work on the sci-fi novel.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Or a fantasy epic.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Sounds great.”

I got distracted for a bit towards the end of the session. Then when it ended I left and ate a sandwich from the local sandwich shop and rode in the car to the hospital. I walked inside the hospital.

“Hi, Dalton,” the lady at the desk said. “Good afternoon. You’re listed in Epic, right? Just have a seat.”

“My mom is disputing a bill, too,” I said. “She will come up soon.”

“Okay, that’s not my field, but I’ll send her to the right person.”

I waited five minutes. Someone showed up.

“Dalton?” she asked.

I nodded and followed her to the exam room. I took off my coat and rolled up my sleeve. She grabbed blood from my left arm. She grabbed the sample and checked to make sure she had the right vial. She did.

Mom and I drove home then. We made it home. I slept until dinner. Dinner was good — we ate a casserole and some broccoli, and everything tasted excellent. I went back to bed — which was odd because I had already slept a ridiculous amount. I slept until midnight.

Why? Why do I sleep so fucking much? I don’t understand. I feel like I’m sleeping through life, missing most of it, not doing anything with my life, drifting away from reality and to a nightmare realm where I have lived without a purpose or connection to reality. I feel disconnected to reality. I slept through an entire day and missed a chance to blog. I am sorry. I will try not to let it happen again.

I missed a day, and I don’t want to miss any more days.

Thanks, and take care, friends.