Getting Up

Getting up in the morning is the hardest thing to do. Everything looks so blurry, I can’t see my feet. The room is still dark, she is still asleep. I’m still half dreaming, about fast cars and problematic aliens. I reach for the water bottle, but the bottle is dry. I turn the blinds slowly and peek outside. The sky is a dull grey, and cars are going past, heading out to work. I wonder when I’ll be able to do the same, but I lack a job and a car. I’d drive back to my dreams if I could.

And I do. My eyes close, and an hour passes.

I wake up and the room is brighter, the blinds open, the lights on. I’m hugging the other half of the duvet, she’s on the chair doing her hair. I can’t get out of bed, I feel too sick. After much waiting, she goes to work, and I curl up into a ball. I think I sob a little bit, but I really can’t be sure.

I sleep in till two.

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