I’ve spent the last year inspecting my ceiling.

Every night or free afternoon, I crawl into bed.

My massive, hopelessly needing bed.

And I lie on my crooked spine and stare at it.

I think it changes everyday based on how lucid my dreaming is

I suppose I could say that about anything these days though, couldn’t I?

That everything changes based on my perceptions of life.

Or just based on how tuned into reality I am.

It’s a funny thought.

My ceiling is eggshell white.

I remember picking out what white I wanted with my mum in the hardware store.

“Ivory or snow?”

I don’t care, mum.

“Well it makes a difference you know.”

No it doesn’t, mum.

“You say that now but, we will come home with snow you’ll realize you wanted a yellower tinge and we should have gotten ivory.”

Fine, get ivory then.

“I think we have egg shell in the basement. Let’s save us the trouble and use that.”

So we did.

And now whenever I crawl into a state of disillusion and forget what the world is supposed to feel like under your fingernails or through your hair when you’re sitting in the sun, this is what I see.

An eggshell ceiling.

Which, in retrospect, sounds graciously poetic.

Sometimes I wonder if it’s possible to concentrate so hard that you become lighter than air and float up into my ceiling.

I fear that the eggshell colour influences how durable it is.

As if it literally might be eggshells and I could burst through it and keep going, further and further until no one can find me.

Maybe if we had bought ivory that day in the hardware store it would be tougher and hold me in.

But, honestly, I don’t know which is scarier.

To be trapped, safely bound, into my room by the ceiling above me

Or drift aimlessly until I hit a satellite dish or even just an airplane or tangled in a kite and fall back into the great atmosphere.

I wonder where I’d land.

I wonder where I’d end up if I just started to drift.

Would anyone notice?

Of course they would, how foolish of me.

A giant gaping hole in my fragile ceiling.

Even if no one went in my room I’m sure they’d notice when the rain that fell through the hole started to flood my room and leak out from under the door.

I wonder what the world sounds like from so high.

I wonder if it’s noisy up there.

I wonder what colour your ceiling is when I lay there now.

I hope that it’s eggshell.

Or cotton ball, or wedding veil.

Something you could tear through and drift through until you found me.

******* hell, I want you to find me.

I’ve spent the last year inspecting my ceiling.

I haven’t found anything interesting out about anything since I started