Morning. I am slowly awake. Head is fuzzy. I slip in and out of a dream, reality hovering around the edges of a moment I can no longer quite see. Dammit.
I finally pry one eye open and lift my head, angling my neck so that I can see the alarm. I should get up. 6:11am. I should get up. I drop my head back into the pillow and close the eye. And fall into a shallow sleep, all the while telling myself I should get up. I should. Get up.
Sometime later, take a breath in, lift my head and open eye again. 6:23am. I should get up. I open the other eye and focus as best as I can on the blur that is the window. The shade is down. I can tell that it’s light outside but not if it’s raining. Or snowing. Or cold. I run through the list of things that I have to do today. I try to make them sound exiting. I know I’m lying. I close my eyes.
The dog whines in her crate and shifts so her tail hits the bars. Cla - clang cla-clang. Both eyes open. I have to get up. I can’t fight this battle with myself anymore. I shift my leg so it’s outside the warmth of the quilt. Not too cold. I move my left arm from where it’s been pressed under my face and throw the quilt back. The sudden change in temperature is a shock to the skin. The last of the fuzz clears from my brain. Sort of. I am awake. Sort of.
And yet, I don’t move. I have to get up but I stay stuck in my half yoga pose, legs akimbo, left arm spread across the open quilt, body in a twist, eyes now staring at the blurredly at the ceiling. I breathe in. I breathe out. I don’t move. I have to get up and I don’t move. I am a dead body.
The dog stands in her crate. The clanging gets progressively louder, matching her whine in volume and in pitch. I roll my body forward, push my left hand against the mattress and push myself upright. And close my eyes. Everything hurts. My back protests the fall from the tree in my twenties, the fall from the stage in my teens, the large rocks I tired to dig up on Saturday. My arms aren’t happy about the rocks either. I reach down and grab my sweater and, after a moment of stupidly hunting the for the tag, I throw it over my head, tag safely at the back of my neck, arms hunting for arm holes all the while screaming at me. Sweater on, I stand and shuffle my feet onto the slippers, hoping that a brown recuse spider has not taken up residence in them overnight, too sore to bend down and shake them first.
I make my way across the room to Husband’s side of the bed, lean over and kiss his forehead. He’s requested this routine of affection even though he’s asleep every time. Even though I often misjudge the distance as I bend down and the kiss ends up not as gentle as he’d like. It would help if I’d remembered to put on my glasses. I haven’t. I shuffle over and unlock the dog crate, blocking Tigger the Dog’s attempt to kiss husband too. In what has become our morning dance, I herd her like a sheep towards the door, her Chewbacca whine not at all muffled by the three ‘babies’ in her mouth. Fumbling with the lock, I manage to open it, swinging it wide enough for the two of us to exit as I grab my glasses off my nightstand, turning to close the door behind me.
I am up.
I really I wish I wasn’t.
My name is ej. I'm a girl. I say that because with the short hair and the short initials, folks aren't always sure. More brilliant insights to who I am in About me