Last night, after working at a stretch, I lay on my lounger, reading. As much as I did not want to sleep, for I had worked and I had earned this time of relaxation, I felt my eyes get heavier. Slowly, I watched myself descend into sleep on the lounger itself. It was one of the perks of living alone—you could sleep anywhere. I have slept on the rug one too many times. The couch has only doubled as my bed, and the lounger has seen me doze off on enough occasions for me to quickly drift into a deep slumber while reading or taking a breather during the day. I have even dozed off on the faux grass on my balcony on pleasant winter afternoons. It was also one of the pitfalls of adulthood—you woke up where you slept. Perhaps, it was the only thing I missed about being a child. You could fall asleep anywhere, but you would end up in your bed. We don’t miss being a child, perhaps, but we miss this submission to safety.
Nonetheless, when I woke up, I woke up to a spilt cup of chamomile tea. I had knocked it over in my sleep, so I woke up in a burst of adrenaline to get everything in order, get ready, and leave. As I walked to the cafe in haste, I saw a shockingly blue butterfly that slowed me down. Its giant, angular, cobalt wings had me forget everything. Like a very distracted puppy, I followed it until it flew away to do whatever it was that butterflies do on Sunday mornings. In meeting my friend after all these years, I realised how it felt as if I were opening a capsule long buried in the fields of time. People remembered things about you that you had long forgotten. Their questions and stories told us how different we were; we were the first to forget ourselves.
As we got ready to leave, I saw the same butterfly perched on the glass door, looking inside. Of course, it could have been another one that looked the same, but it helped my case and disposition to think it was the same. I came home and made myself a peanut butter and honey sandwich. Then, I turned on the TV and watched some old cartoons I grew up watching, for no reason in particular besides the fact that I could and that I suddenly missed Sundays from decades ago.