At first I think I will be able to ignore it.
It is only breathing.
I have been doing it my entire life.
Nobody should have to think about something that simple.
And yet, the moment the rhythm is established, I stop thinking about anything else.
That is the first thing that bothers me.
Not the counting.
Not the pauses.
Not the physical sensation.
The attention.
The way some part of my mind begins orbiting something I do not even like.
I want my own rhythm back.
I genuinely do.
But I also keep listening.
Waiting.
Calculating.
There is a contradiction there that I cannot resolve.
The room remains unchanged.
The lamp continues producing the same electrical hum.
Somewhere in the distance, a pipe makes three hollow knocks.
Always three.
Never two.
Never four.
I do not know why I know that.
Maybe I have been listening to it for too long.
Maybe my attention needs something to hold on to.
Inhale.
Exhale.
I try doing it my own way.
I fail.
Not because someone forces me.
Because I have become too aware of it.
That is different.
And probably worse.
I begin noticing ridiculous things.
A faint pull beneath my left rib.
The feeling that one nostril lets in colder air than the other.
A small patch of peeling paint on the ceiling.
I do not remember noticing it before.
Now I cannot stop looking at it.
I should be thinking about something else.
Anything else.
But I keep returning to the same place.
The same cycle.
The same problem.
I do not enjoy this sensation.
I do not seek it.
It is not pleasant.
And yet I catch myself anticipating the next count.
That is what truly unsettles me.
Not the breathing.
The anticipation.
There are moments when I feel irritated with myself.
Moments when I want to break the rhythm simply to prove that I still can.
And there are other moments—more uncomfortable to admit—when I find myself listening to the silence between one instruction and the next.
As if that pause contains something important.
As if I am waiting for something to happen.
Nothing happens.
Nothing ever happens.
Just air entering.
Air leaving.
And an attention that refuses to leave.
By the end I feel relief when it is over.
Real relief.
Physical.
Immediate.
Then I notice something ridiculous.
I keep counting for a few seconds longer.
Nobody asked me to.
There is no reason anymore.
And yet I continue.
One.
Two.
Three.
I realize what I am doing and stop.
That should be insignificant.
I do not know why it is not.
The neck I am not moving it the neck has locked I should…
