rose tints my world

The clock reads 7:45. My eyes snap open and I jump out of bed with a sharp gasp. Sometimes it can be difficult to remember that the monsters in my dreams cannot follow me into the waking world. Panic. I try to take deep, calming  breaths. I blink. The clock now says it is past noon. I think, that can't be right. I blink. The clock still says it is past noon. I think, which is broken, me or the clock?

I have lost my morning to the autonomonster. She refuses to distinguish herself from me; ask her to tell you her name, and you will be berated for inquiring at all, before she spits out an irate "Anna". She lives by a set of self-governed rules, independent of societal norms and morals. She conducts herself with the air of a defiant teen, and has no regard for consequences. With a proclivity for visceral experiences, the autonomonster is a spectacular liability, and her excursions into my mind almost always have calamitous results.

Today the autonomonster spent my morning destroying possessions of mine. Journals dating from years back, letters from old friends, various paintings and sketches lay scattered across the floor, torn and destroyed. As I stare at the detritus at my feet, the sad remains of my deepest secrets and thoughts and emotions, I wonder why. At first I curse her for this roguery, as tears of dejection well up in my eyes and my throat constricts. As I begin to sift through the relics with a slouching resignation, however, I have to wonder about the value I hold in these items, these raw glimpses of particular moments in my history. How much does my identity depend on them? And with an epiphanic jolt I realize that she has freed me from the erroneous belief that I am not anyone except who I am in this moment.


I pop on my rose tinted glasses and accept that spring cleaning has, apparently, begun.