I'm not a morning person. So when they schedule me for the first shift at work I have to get up early. Early enough to crawl my way out of the soft embrace of covers and pillows. Early enough to trudge up the stairs towards the bathroom in the(more) hope that a cool shower will do the trick. Early enough to pour some breakfast and caffeine into my stomach and let its waking grumbles subside before dressing and dashing out the door in a haze of one-eye open, the other still dreaming.
When I reach the top step, the windows let early darkness leak through their panes into the kitchen, which clings to night as easily as myself. I step lightly through the shadows and sleep towards the bathroom. I close the door before I turn on the light, so as not to disturb the hallway from its slumber, or wake the gentle snores from the master bedroom.
I know my grandmother's knees hurt her last night because the chemical-peppermint smell of her cream sits on the sink as if waiting for me. The pain-relieving ointment soaks through her skin to relax the muscles that tighten around her ever-increasingly-frail bones and her arthritis filled joints to ease the burden of each stressful day filled with the worries of an aging woman. The lives of her children and her children's children struggle fitfully in her wrinkled hands, held lovingly in her heart.
I'm not a morning person. So when they schedule me for the first shift, I have to get up early enough to crawl out of bed and into the shower. Early enough to grumble and focus. Early enough to brew coffee, pour two cups, and greet my grandmother when she wakes to relaxed knees and an eased heart.(less)
Oh, it's 6 a.m I need to get up and get ready.
I need to make and pack my kids lunch and my own.
I need to hustle to work or I'll be late.
I barely made it to work on time; I always barely make it.
(more) This client needs this, my boss needs that, there's a meeting I have to attend but need to leave early to pick up my kids, and then rush back to attend the rest.
I need to get my work done here at the office there's no time at home. Once I'm home I need to clean up the messes they left to do later, make dinner, and help them with their homework.
Before I know it the sun has set, the kids are asleep and I'm still up replying to e-mails, making notes of dates and deadlines, oh, and I almost forgot my bills. It's late now, I'll take care of that tomorrow. Oh, it's midnight I guess I should say later today.
I should call it a night, I have to get up early for today.(less)
Sunlight streaked through the room, highlighting the dust motes that were clearly visible, floating about in the air. The early morning chirping of the birds roused me from my peaceful slumber and I had a hell of a time trying to(more) distinguish, through the curtain of hair, what time it was.
To my dismay, peering at my digital clock, that I didn't realize I owned, it was 5:45 in the morning. I plopped back down on the odd side of the bed and wished like hell that I could fall asleep again.
It was a curse. Once I woke up, I had trouble falling back asleep. I didn't want to face the day, despairing already the meaningless job I would have to drive to in the morning. I wished I could snuggle further underneath the cool, gray sheets and fall into a coma of a sleep.
My eyes widened as my fingers glided across the silk of the sheets. Gray? When were my sheets gray? Had I mistakenly washed them with something black in my laundry? I hated gray. It was such a mundane color. My mind must still be in the early-morning haze, I thought.
I sat up fully now, rubbing at my tired skin vigorously. I pushed back the thick mass of hair that fell in front of my face and glanced around the room. Realization began to dawn on me, noticing the odd placement of the furniture, the large LCD screen planted against one side of the wall, facing a black leather couch, the abnormal amount of sunlight that streaked through the window...
I turned my head, horror striking through me like a deadly bolt of thunder.
With open eyes, he smirked, half-naked. "Good Morning, sweetheart." (less)
Yes, tomorrow, the best time for all things new. Because whatever today could have been is long gone. Bleached out in a bath of plastic smiles, sweaty collared shirts, bumper to bumper traffic, and dog vomit. But tomorrow is somehow alway(more)s far enough away to still be full of possibility.
I try to remind myself that I chose this. The last 17 hours of my day have been lived for the next 15 minutes of freedom. This time is mine in a way that no other minute of the day has been. And what do I do with it? More often than not, I spend it dreaming.
I dream that tomorrow I'll start early, get ahead, and have that little bit of extra impetus necessary to turn a perfunctory day into an expansive one. Dream that I'll be able to give those around me as much as they need and still have enough left at the end of the day to make some tangible investment toward the time to come.
All that time spent dreaming is not time spent acting. I know this. I also know it's hard to build a future without sufficient dreams to scaffold the architecture. It feels like there isn't time enough for both. Not today.
But tomorrow might be different. The best part of every day is knowing tomorrow comes again.(less)
"That cannot be the alarm," Gotou's voice was drowsy and buried in the pillow behind Masayoshi's head. He was hoping desperately that he was hallucinating the buzzing phone - but it was out of reach, cleverly plugged in on the other side of the room, requiring someone to stagger(more) out of bed to shut it off. "It's not even daylight, is it?"
Masayoshi raised his head and squinted - the clock by the television did indeed show at a quarter till six - and then he dropped his head back to the pillow and sighed deeply. After a moment Gotou nudged him. "Oi, you're not going back to SLEEP-?"
"Snooze is on the other side of the room, you're welcome to it," Masayoshi said.
Gotou huffed against the back of his head, and then physically shoved him out of bed. Masayoshi yelped - he had used both hands and feet, and Masayoshi was propelled over the side of the bed. It wasn't a very high distance from the ground, but it still hurt. "Hey!"
When he turned around, Gotou had burrowed under the pillow, clutching it tight around his head. Masayoshi pulled on the bedsheets, and there was a brief game of tug-of-war as Gotou wasn't about to relinquish his grip on them. "You have to get up too!"
To coincide with Masayoshi's point, Gotou's cell phone alarm went off, joining the repetitive melody that was Masayoshi's.
"God dammit," Gotou said, muffled. Masayoshi climbed back on the bed and worked on peeling the pillow out of Gotou's hands. "Why the hell did we set the alarm so early?"
Masayoshi flung the pillow overboard and loomed over Gotou. "I know why," he murmured, and slung himself over Gotou's chest. Gotou blinked up at him sleepily as Masayoshi kissed him.(less)