I dreamt of the eternal waiting room between. Life and Death. Something as mundane as a layer of fluorescent light upon my eternity seemed banal as dressing for the afterlife. Yet, here I stood on the horrific office tile after being told to take a number. I tried to envision every time I sat in the DMV for comparison to this eternal bout of waiting, but at least at the DMV there still resided the anxiety bubbling on a low heat that something was to happen, that something was to come of things, that something would progress after the waiting and doing. For my soul to be lost to some kind of angelic, divine bureaucracy is less than poetic. God, these structures and systems I have been born into will now be my eternal undoing? How dare you leave me in this beige room to rot, to forget, to kill my soul another time. CURSE YOU!
Wait. What's that now? Oh, I can move to the next room? Ha, TAKE THAT ALL YOU PEOPLE STUCK IN THIS FIRST ROOM! WHO IS YOUR GOD NOW! HAHA YES! HATE ME! Oh, it feels so good to make progress toward this indiscernible and distant goal while the fabric of myself comes undone in the context of being human. Thank god for my number.
Oh, what's my number? Yes, it is... Oh, I see. Ah... yes, well, I will take back up my seat in this disturbingly unfloral pattern chair, no no, it is fine.
I can wait a little longer.
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