Strange things are happening in my head.
On the bus yesterday, everything just stopped.
Usually on bus rides longer than 30 minutes, I get nauseated.
So I shut my eyes and listened to my breath.
And I realized that yet again, I'm clenching my jaw.
I do this almost constantly in public.
I don't know entirely why.
Possibly because I like the way my cheekbones look when I do it.
And the way my neck looks longer.
But I mostly do it because I hate the way people look with their mouths open,
for everyone to gawk at their teeth. So I clench my jaw tight.
And on the bus, I opened my eyes, and I looked at everyone around me.
Everyone with their drooping lips and exposed enamel.
And I thought in this little tin can of maybe 50 travelling and solemn sardines,
we are all breathing the same air.
In and out of pairs of lungs, one by one.
Over teeth and tongues and out.
Then again into more open lips.
And contemplating this, I realized I was holding my breath.
Because I was disgusted. I praised the open window and wished the outside
air was making its way to my chest.
But then again, over the plethora of years that have passed on this planet,
I can't imagine how there could be any virgin oxygen in our little bubble.
All the animals and dead, dying and living creatures that breathe
have certainly sullied every molecule of such a finite atmosphere.
And now I want to stay inside for good.