Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Powdered Oatmeal

I think, initially, it's the sound that I miss.
The shuffling and banging downstairs, even as my eyes refuse to open.
The dreaded opening of the door.
The harshness of the light.
Brutal.
"Time to get up."

Even among the protests--the groans and the roll overs and the "Noooooo"s--resistance was futile.
It was morning and you were getting up. To too lumpy or too runny powdered oatmeal. To fights over access to the bathroom. To "You have to leave in 20 minutes."
Yes, it was morning and you were getting up.
End of story.

...

I live on my own now, for the first time in my life.
And, as I am presently on break, I do not have to set my morning alarm.
I can wake up leisurely and whenever I choose.

The thought gives me panic attacks.

As soon as my mind becomes conscious, it knows something is terribly wrong.

There are no noises in the kitchen. No shuffling. No banging of pots and pans.

It knows that no one is coming. To open the door. To turn on the light. To force me to get up.

Somehow it knows that I am alone and that no one, save myself, is here to usher me into the new day.

...

I am alone.

And lonely.

1 comment:

  1. Glad to know I'm not alone in my world and that it's repeated not too far away in the same city.

    ReplyDelete