Because I was 20 minutes late…

16 11 2009

I look around, barely seeing what is there, rushing through the morning rituals of imported and over sweetened coffee, and showers that are always too cold, and being late one more time.

My plan to wake up early enough to have a decent breakfast for a change, has failed, and if I could only wake up when I am supposed to, well, maybe I would feel better.

Sophie is crying, and refusing to go outside, as if she shared with me the feeling of wanting to stay under the warm blankets for a few more hours. Laundry stares at me from the corner, and I still need to get those jeans hemmed.

Coffee. Where is the coffee, and did I take my vitamins? I need to get more film and more apples. At least the gym bag is already packed.

I am trying to swim out of the fog of sleeping late and too much wine and calls to the other end of the world. Maybe this living in two time zones I’ve been doing for the past 5 years is catching up. Or maybe it was that extra drink I had Saturday. Either way, I am still late, and tired, and the alarm is still screaming somewhere.

And my car keys are nowhere to be found.

The crisp autumn wind comes in through the door, and while it fills the house with possibility, it takes me back to his stories. I stop, and listen, and feel him close even though he is a million miles away.  My eyes get slowly filled with tears, and right then I decide to leave the memories of him in a drawer, and I take a sweater instead.

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