As
part of my participation in My
500 words, I am posting what I write each day.
I like to pat myself on the
back that I can get up in the morning with no alarm clock. It’s really no great
feat to be able to do that. I’ve read questions where people ask why they seem
to get up minutes before their alarm clock goes off. It’s pretty simple, many
people just adjust to getting up at the same time. If I wake up every morning
at 6:00, my mind and body will become used to it and wake up without any
outside assistance.
Maybe what I can do is a
little more unique, I don’t just wake up at six, I get up too. Mornings are
darker and cooler now, even here in Southern California. 6:00 in the summer
means it’s light out and the covers are off. But as October draws to a close,
even the mild winters of my area mean that early in the morning, my bed is
warmer than the outside world. But I still get up.
Consciousness comes on me and
I look at the clock beside my bed. It usually is a few minutes before six. And
I lie there for a moment. The thoughts come.
I have reasons to get up. I’m
a morning person. The coffee pot might be timed to start brewing right then. I
have obligations each morning, animals to be fed and chances are I’m cooking
breakfast for the family too. But still, as the bliss of a night’s sleep
quickly ebb away, an emptiness remains, a hollowness that any thought can fill.
The thoughts come.
It’s not worth it, they say.
You’re no writer. You’re deceiving yourself, denying the inevitable fact that
you’re nothing more than a janitor. Your kids roll their eyes at you and your
wife could live without you. You’ve got nothing to offer those close to you,
the world, anyone. Why bother? You’ll get up and sit at your laptop, which is
probably going to crash and die any day now. The words won’t come. You’ll get
frustrated. The coffee will be too hot. Rhapsody music service probably won’t
load. And David, you’re still so tired.
The bliss of sleep, which
pulled back like an ocean wave, begins to crash and break, tumbling back toward
me. My eyes feel so dry, just close them, moisten them a bit. Breathe deep. The
pillows are surrounding me, not too warm in the coolness of the room.
You’re nobody, the voice
assures me. But escape from the world through sleep makes it all better.
But I’ve lived in denial so
much of my life, it works both ways. I can deny what the voices say too. I
stretch my legs as hard as I can, the same legs that twitched and kept me up
last night. I feel so tired and sleepy, when can I sleep next? I lie and assure
myself that I can probably get a nap in somewhere, maybe even in the morning.
My body believes this lie. I try to pull in strength through breaths. The sleep
had been washing back over me and I rise out of it, up from a warm bath of
escape into cold reality.
I grab my phone from the
bedside and stand up. A battle is won.
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