THINKING in Journal #1: The Real Me

I sleep in a queen sized bed, it sits conveniently in front of a neat silver desk that often gets cluttered if not paid close attention to. But right now in its “almost clean but not quite” condition,
what can be seen is a rubiks cube, an oil diffuser, flashcards, 80 dollars worth of copic sketch markers, and one silver flash drive with a label on it.
It reads my name in five big capital letters.

Translated into the English language this name means, THURSDAY.
One step away from Friday, almost there but not quite.

On any other day I’d be an untranslated version of myself, I call that adapting. Working with what I was given and not what I am.
Quite like a chameleon.

Is my bed big enough to hold both my names?

I stare at myself in the mirror and I often wait for me to disappear but I never do. Like if I concentrated hard enough on the concept of me, I’d vanish down the bathroom sink as if I were tap water.

I’m translucent, I’m soaking into the towels.

I am alive and well with my conveniently placed silver desk and my rubiks cube.
What more would the universe like?