The world has been too sharp. I wake up from sharp dreams in my sharp bedroom to the sharp sunshine stabbing in through my windows. It hurts my eyes and my ears and my skin. My heart rate is higher than usual all day and I’m tired, but not from lack of sleep. I sigh and heave myself out of bed, gingerly planting my feet onto the sharp, cold tile below.

I go into the kitchen to get breakfast, but the sun is sharper in there and the refrigerator’s buzzing feels like a jet engine in my ears and I’m too overwhelmed to choose a granola bar, so I walk into the living room instead. I sit in the floor and try to stretch and do my breath work, but the rug that is normally soft under my toes is scratching my legs and it makes me want to rip my skin off. I miss my old house with it’s soft sunshine and soft floors and soft green glow from the trees outside.

I move to the couch and turn on some relaxing music, but I keep the volume low because my ears are still ringing from the refrigerator jet. I have things to do today, but thinking about them makes my ears ring louder and my skin hurt more and my eyes feel like they’ll explode. I try to relax. I can’t spend another day chasing less sharp things. Reclining into the squishy cushions I take a deep breath and close my eyes. It helps. Things soften a little. I grab my laptop to work and my stomach growls. I ignore it because I’m enjoying the sliver of softness I just got. I start typing today’s project. My stomach growls again. My ears are still ringing so I ignore it again and keep typing.

Then its 8am and the neighbor leaves for work. They let every door slam on the way out of the building, and each slam echoes through every square inch of everyone else’s apartment in the building. After the slams the light is sharp again and the noise the keys make as I type makes me want to scream. I close my laptop. My stomach growls. I go to the kitchen because I have to eat but the neighbor revs his motorcycle engine as I open the fridge door and everything is sharp again. I snatch a granola bar from the cabinet and a glass of water and go back to the couch. Maybe if I eat something I’ll be able to focus on working. The water feels like razor blades on my tongue.

I eat my measly breakfast and things soften a little bit again. I open my laptop to get back to work and the dog who lives upstairs throws his solid plastic toy across the living room because he gets bored when his family is gone. It clatters across the tiles ten feet above my head and I swear my ears start to bleed. Then another neighbor comes home. Slam. Slam. Slam. I close my laptop, then my eyes. I take a few deep breaths to try to soften everything again. It doesn’t work. I’m exhausted before 9am.

I decide to water the plants because I haven’t in three days and it’s relaxing and forces me to go outside. The sunshine that was sharp to my eyes inside the house is so soft on my skin as I step out onto the patio and I relish in it for a moment before stepping to the pothos I’m trying not to kill. As I water the plants, I breathe in the fresh air and hear the birds chirp from the trees across the street. It’s all so soft and gentle; a stark contrast to the sharp discomfort just on the other side of the patio door. I sprinkle the water into the dark dirt and decide to work outside.

I walk back inside, grab my laptop and my water from the coffee table, and retreat to the soft side of the door for the day. The sun kisses my arms and cheeks and my heart slows down, my ears quiet, my skin settles, and my eyes finally relax. I settle into my mamasan chair, drink some water that is finally not like razorblades on my tongue, and get to work. The sun and the water and the birds in the trees have worked their magic and if they keep it up, maybe I’ll get to enjoy this day.