greet another day.

5:30 am.

Cozy bed.
I gotta get up.
Gotta work.  
So many things to do today.
Don’t wanna.
It can wait till tomorrow.
Wait – did I say that yesterday? Crap, that means I have yesterday’s work AND today’s work to do.
In that case, won’t matter if I put it all off till tomorrow now.
1 day, 2 days, 3… it’s all the same.
If I can just make it to the weekend…. What? Why are the 2 days that start with “S” magical? If anything, I want to do even LESS on the weekends. Weekends are good for being lazy, watching Netflix, eating junk food…
But then again, that’s all I wanna do today, too.
And probably tomorrow.
I know it’s all I did yesterday. Laundry’s still in the washer, pile of dirty clothes is getting ridiculous; Trash Mountain ready to sprout legs & walk away…
I should probably take a shower, too. God, why does it take so much energy to shower?! It’s literally just standing in water. But if I don’t shower, everyone will see from the outside how I feel on the inside. It’s a decent diversion, so I’ll just go take a quick shower… probably not even wash my hair, really. Just enough to get the stink of melancholy off my skin.
What a weird feeling. I must be the only person on earth who gets so existential about personal hygiene. What a dumb thing to even think about. That’s why it’s a thinking thing and not talking – no one needs to know the weird stuff that goes through my brain. But if it goes through mine, something like it must go through other people’s minds – are there other people who are lying in bed right now, counting down the minutes till they can go back to sleep?
I suppose the law of averages states there must be a good amount of people in the same proverbial boat. To extrapolate further, some of them must be in my family or circle of friends. Wonder who? I wonder who thinks I’m that person. (better question – who uses the word ‘extrapolate?’) Her, with the jerk of a boyfriend, who drinks too much and has totally isolated her? She never seems to get too down about it. Angry, sure, but not sad. I think sad packed its bags & drove out of town a long time ago.
Come to think of it, she even jokes about it. Laughs, crassly, about death and having nice things, joining in the comments under my breath, the universal sign for ‘we’re in this together’ – so if we’re in that together, maybe we’re in this together too? This unspoken coping mechanism, with its rusty cogs and broken springs; just creaking by to move the parts, but with no flash or gleam, nothing to show that it’s an important part of a bigger machine.
But if we weren’t both working at it, it would grind to a halt. So she must be pulling her weight, and mine, too. And if she can do all that, endlessly, drag me along like a swaddled albatross, then I really do owe it to her to get up. Get up and at least go through the motions. At least shower, really. After that I can take a nap. Then I can say I did something. Anything.

Push the covers off. Swing the legs over. Sit up creakily and greet another day.

 
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