6:00am alarm. My partner gets out of bed, dresses, brushes his teeth and kisses me on the cheek. He thinks I’m asleep but I listen to every move he makes, then the door locking and then the car starting. He’s gone for the day and I drift back into odd dreams of family outings and spiders on the beach…
9:04am road sounds wake me up and kids who are late for school. My eyes fully open to see the dull cold morning and I mentally list my chores for the day as always, timing each one to allow for some enjoyable activities. An hour passes and I’m still lying here, all stuffed up and aching from the day before. I’ve been staring at the ceiling and glaring into social media and perusing YouTube subs on Valentine’s Day, which I’m finding boring.
It’s now 11:54, I’m dying for a Starbucks and a little fresh air and still not contemplating housework. What’s wrong with me? I’m usually on the ball, I usually enjoy having a clean house despite the pain it causes me to clean it. I just don’t want to. I don’t even even want to get up and go shopping for shampoo and lunch and pick up my white mocha, I want to stay in this bed all day and have all things brought to me.
It’s unlike me to feel so lethargic or waste any of my precious day away from work doing nothing but watch the time race by. It’s strange for me because I make deals with myself that if everything is done in the day then the evenings are spent resting and that plan works for me but I can’t seem to encourage myself with that pact to leave the comfort and warmth of my bed for anything.
Time keeps slipping away from me.