Morning Ritual of the Uncertain by Victoria Beatriz Moore

Morning Ritual of the Uncertain

by Victoria Beatriz Moore

Going back to school felt like a contradiction. It felt like every other morning, but then again it didn’t. I thought I had a good sleep, but I might have not slept at all. Everything about this day felt very familiar, yet completely new. With some time I realized I have my own traditions on particular mornings. My eyes opened, I think, and I stared at my exquisitely decorated ceiling that had no business being so. Overly sized royal windows and pleasantly placed pipes complement my room’s already groovy ambience. Sleeping in the city instills occasional mornings of regret. I can honestly say that it feels like sin or an explicit form of blasphemy knowing I use around eight hours more or less taking it easy. Becoming in tune with the gyration of everything traffic has gifted me levels of perpetual vigilance. It feels although I swallowed a significant amount of rules that go with living under the kind of security inspiring buildings provide. One of the benefits of living in New York is the sharpening of all your senses, including the common one. Every morning as soon as I step off of the last rise connecting the composure of my home and the accelerated current that is New York City, it’s an intimate utilization of personal embodiment.

Anyway, after everyone’s usual morning routine, I relaxed again until it wouldn’t be too early to leave. The walk to school was animate and the uncovering of new friends was very positive. Once our professor arrived we went through a customary first-day introduction. I observed my starry–eyed classmates and felt satisfied with the room’s vibe. “Feeling the year is going to be a good one,” I said.  Arriving home with a comfortable time interval before work certified me to join a neighbor for the rarity of a home cooked meal.  I have temporarily sold my soul to the one-dollar pizza joints for several pathetic reasons I’m proud of. Enjoying an afternoon with a friend and pasta is another pro of living in this kind of uncertainty.  Remaining habitually uncertain provides a nice ease. An art all on it’s own and understood by a handful, existing in medias res of your own ignorance is transcendental. The “Midwife of Thought” would agree.

At around four I left for work in a nice daze.  Going down 4 extended fleets of stairs didn’t catch my attention and once I opened the door outside, it didn’t feel as if I was exiting. The sun was conditioned and wind was germane, making the day holy.

 Pasta with a friend.

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