Sleeping In Exile

It's been 06 nights since I've been sleeping in my room.

I just went into my room to check and it still reeks of bed bug pesticide, which smells familiarly like petrol or kerosene. Maybe, the bed bug pseticide IS kerosene. Then I'd really been had. Or my dad actually.

Now I'm sleeping in my mum's room, which used to be my room. I feel like a squatter, lying on a thin mattress which was meant for my niece whenever she comes over to visit. Definitely strange.

My butt hurt and ached the first two mornings when I slept there, but now, I've discovered a position where I could lie and avoid the pain. Call it adaptation.

Yet, I can't help feeling like I'm home again. It's the same walls I'd been staring at oh, so many years before in the middle of the night when I'm feeling... lonely, melancholic, or just needing the space to... think.

Seems like a long time since I last "think".

Somehow, maybe a lack of time... too much work, too much entertainment... too much hanging out... has left me stranded on a vicious mechanical routine of eat, sleep, work, chill out, recreation, till I've forgotten how and when to "think". Or maybe falsely perceived Christian theology has taught me to forsake "thinking".

Pray, don think. I was taught... hmm...

But then, last night as I laid there on my thin mattress, I started to "think" and boy, did it feel good or what... it's like my heart finally got a breather, after being submerged for an unimaginable amount of time.

Feels like I'm tripping... definitely gonna "think" more. :)