There are days when you wake up and automatically slip into your well practised routine, and if your brain wasn't numbed beyond self-analytical, cognitive thought, the sheer, utter predictability and drudgery of it would make you question not only your sanity, but also your whole existence. With a brain only half engaged, the world takes on an unreal, dream-like quality, which although superficially pleasant, soon envelopes you in a cocoon of apathy, where all thoughts are ephemeral and where procrastination begrudgingly wins an uneven battle against motivation.
For an hour or two the lobotomised comfort of Mogadon-enhanced stupidity seems an enviable goal in life, but sooner or later hunger kicks in, and easy calories for the minimum of effort reluctantly become a blurred focus of attention. Oh the effort, as a leaden arm reaches for the kitchen cupboard. The carbohydrate kick of the chocolate chip cookie is soon replaced by the welcome return to comfort blanket of lethargy, and life resumes its snail like pace.
Millions of years of human evolution have enabled the idle to triumph. Within a few thousand more, the essential human requirements will be reduced to a bed and a biscuit, all that is required to keep desiccated bodies in a state of semi-suspended animation. All physical actions will be replaced by the mental images conjured up in dreams by the unconscious mind.
I remember doing something once, but this was long ago, and the exact nature has escaped me. Deep within my memory banks there are fleeting glimpses of a green outdoors, with moving air and ever changing skies. There is radiant warmth upon my face, and as I lie down in the grass, a yellow-orange glow penetrates my closed eyelids. There are gentle sounds of rustling grass, the chirrup of grasshoppers, and the soft clicks as they leap from stem to stem.
Occasionally, the orchestration is enhanced by the stereo buzzing of a bumblebee, panning from ear to ear as it blunders its way from one bright yellow flower to another. A recurring memory and self contained, it floats in time, with no beginning and no end, Perhaps it's a remnant of a past life, or even a premonition of that final moment, when life ebbs slowly away, soothed by the gentle caress of sunlight and the hypnotic buzzing of insects, fading into oblivion.