Faces in Places

I slapped my alarm off but didn't move from bed. I knew that a critical countdown was beginning: I had either to get up or to reset my alarm in the next minute, or I would fall asleep and never wake up again.

I peeked out of the corner of an eye and was startled away from sleepiness. There was a face on my work table. A face. On my work table there was a face - part plastic bag, part stack of books - and my camera was right there on the corner. I could have taken a picture of it. I wanted to take a picture.

I didn’t. I rose, took a shower, poured myself a cup of tea, and watched an episode of Scrubs. I wondered, then, if I couldn’t still see the face(s)-in-place(s). I lay down, on my side, squinted out of the corner of one eye, moved my head a couple times until I got back into the same position. I could see it.

I reached for the camera but as I pulled, I heard the bag move. The USB cord was all up in its business. In the attempt to record the object, I transformed the object.

Damn these literal instances of existentialism.