Mother has these subtle ways of waking me up at ungodly hours. Putting on some music, "accidentally" banging the vacuum cleaner against my door, or letting the phone ring just a little longer than necessary. It's her way of saying I should get up and do something - whatever - whether I have anything scheduled or not. And more than that, it's her way of saying I should make plans for my future and figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life. She doesn't like to say it to my face, and knowing myself I probably wouldn't listen even if she did. So she tells me by sending elusive but evident signals, making me read between the lines in an all too assertive body of text.
It's not that I don't have plans. I do, and I literally think about them all the time. It's just that standing at the crossroads can be so immensely intimidating. If someone ever tells you that choosing paths means having the adventure of a lifetime ahead of you and that you should feel blessed for all the wonderful opportunities out there, they're lying. Leaving everything you know and love behind to enter the unknown is nothing but painful. So every now and then I try not to speak, move or even breathe in the hope that maybe nothing will change if I keep quiet and still in my little dollhouse bedroom.
It never works, of course. For all the time I try to hold my breath, all I can hear and think of is the clocks ticking away the hours, minutes and seconds of the present day.
Tick tock tick tock