stormy mondays

For me it's always monday. Everyday during the last past week I thought for some reason it was monday. I am that unaware of what people call reality. I long to play the blues like an old wise racoon and don't know what to do with my lack of ambition or sense of direction.
Everyday is a stormy monday except for I am in the silent spot of the hurricane. The quiet center. I look into the bathroom mirror into which I escaped from class to avoid an utter collaps of reality. there I am, still, good Lord, and just stare with a blank expression into my own reflection. I observe how eyes dwell up but it might not even be mine. It's a sad face, why is it a sad face? There is nothing sad in this clean and hygenic bathroom, I could have my lunch sitting on the floor. That's truly strange. Why is there a knot in my throat? What does it do there? Oh, see, it's gone.
I wash my hands and couldn't feel more indifferent about it.
How can somebody like you possibly turn into someone like me? he asked the next morning via email text message.
I think, oh well, I feel like am drifting away. I totally understand now how you could be disgusted by so many people. How you didn't really care anymore. How they annoyed you. How nothing really mattered anymore. I feel WHATEVER to become a powerful reality. whatever is, when nothing really matters anymore. Even not you.