That day I woke up

I finished reading a book one Sunday afternoon.
I lay down to rest then slowly drifted to sleep.
I woke up and sat up forgetting all that I had read.
I simply sat on my bed
facing the blank white wall of my room.
I simply sat facing the blank wall,
nothing more.
Then I began to hear water trickling down
from the faucet to the bucket.
Downstairs Shony was shouting at Idgy
telling him to stop playing with fire
and give her the lighter.
Claudia was still typing chain letters.
Her colleagues' trick on her she said.
Better to avoid the bad luck —
nothing to lose anyway, she added.
I wondered why she has to physically type each one
when she could photocopy the original.
I sat.
I felt the air getting cooler, more bearable.
Things began to stir in the adjacent room.
Anytime now, Bing will come down to prepare dinner.
I still don't hear Sam.
She must be the easiest baby in the world.
They must be drugging the baby to keep her quiet, the jest goes.
I sat and looked at the blank
newly painted wall.
It's not all smooth after all.
There, crinkles; there, wrinkles.
I sat without looking at the time.
Then I stood up.
Slowly feeling for the first time
how my body shifted weight as I stood.
Heavier on the right foot, then lighter.
Heavier on the left foot, the lighter.
Then I reached the bathroom.
I bent to fully stop the faucet from dripping.
I stood and turned ever so slowly to piss.
I was just there: standing and pissing.
Then I flushed:
listening to the sound of toilet flushing.
That day I woke up knowing somehow
what I wanted to do for the rest of my life.