Avoiding over-punctuating

The heater turns on and melts my imagination. That's to say, I feel things slip. Now, I could very easily crack the window, level the room, but that won't last long as the room would grow cold and the heater wouldn't turn back on until I'd added blanket then comforter to my pile. Circuitous again, it would be. The worst of it is that rest comes similarly, shifting. I’m usually unable to just lie down and zonk out. Things require a certain level of attempt, of concentration or contemplated and exacted plans. And regardless, I’d walk up again at around three. So, I don’t lie down at all for a long time, until the balance is a little closer to bearable, until around now-ish.

My first thought to that end is simple: won’t this leave disruptive clouds under my eyes? Won’t it cause a disconnect from the text I’m reading on the el as all I can do to remind my eyes that they should stay open is watch others on the train. Usually, there’s at least one gentleman asleep, leaned over with his mouth a trap and his mustache growing passed his lips. I never hear him snore or sleeping, just know that he is; his breathing is indicative. Those around him, including the night waitress whose day is spent at Roosevelt or Truman not hardly bundled enough, seem concerned, like they’re his children and they know he needs the sleep. So, they block the door and mutter curses to the driver about keeping the door open or the train itself for the ill-temperate air pumping through the vents.

But what if I do fall asleep now? …no. Doesn’t help, really. The mornings will be slow, and I’ll read too much knowing that I could just wait until arriving at my desk, after pressing my jacket against my mesh chair. This, of course, will yield exhausted or bored or simply uninspired hours with the screen, or walking the hall to hold conversation that holds no prompting and the shifts in chairs and raises of eyebrows that tell me that they “actually have work to do.” I don’t, really. The piles could be executed in the time it used to take: 6 hours. None of this pacing oneself. Taking moments to jog in place and splash single-serve cups into my face and shake the beads off.

The floor could be pushed down, my eyes together and bent. I could work on the back muscles I’m supposed to, to best support the growth necessary back there, but I don’t. I mean, wouldn’t that just keep me up even longer, sweat even more with all the windows up, beginning to fog from the furnace and the steam that might come off me if I were in snow and a monk somewhere in Tibet; or so I’ve read somewhere. No. …nope. Allow the mind to wander seems to make more sense. This junction would seem more palatable if only my imagination and brain would work in this heat. Defiance, they heat lest often comes.