Feeling poetic (and groggy)
This morning I woke up to nothing.
The air feels still and I think for a moment: “The air’s never still.”
But that’s not true.
The air is still when you’re somewhere calm, somewhere peaceful—maybe on vacation. The issue is, that’s not reality. In real life, especially Monday through Friday, the air is rarely still.
I take a couple breaths and listen further.
A slight melody from the wind hums outside my window. The gentle cadence from the highway, just a few stone skips away, beats on. The melodic mash-up demands to be heard, and I like it.
I am able to focus, if that’s even possible in such a groggy state of mind, on my boyfriend's breaths. Each breath out so peacefully rhythmic and accompanied by a snore so soft it mimics a cymbal chime leading into the next verse.
I’ve never loved music more.
I wipe my eyes. They’re just barely peeled, a little crusty and, while observant of the darkness, I pull attention to myself.
We share a full size mattress, but right now I‘m touching every corner: on my back, legs stretched out wide, completely sprawled, and yet, it’s most likely not done mindlessly.
I wiggle my toes and I feel a weight. As it turns out, our cat has joined us and chosen her sliver of the bed. I mustn't disturb her. I feel as though I am the chosen one catering to her comfort. It’s all been unconsciously arranged.
The air seems to stir as I blink away the darkness. The light behind our window shades has never been so piercing. It’s too early for the sun, so unnaturally bright white. But I don’t find myself annoyed. It casts a rather interesting pattern on the ceiling that I find pleasing, tasteful even. Maybe I’m just polite or woke up as a protagonist in an indie film.
I begin to shimmy my foot to freedom, more so fearful of waking the cat than the human. Fortunately, her breath stays slow, steady and unfazed while I roll out of bed and tip-toe like a lumbering giant toward the bathroom. It’s much too early to be up, but my bladder’s an insomniac.
A soft thud of paws makes me yawn– I wasn’t as sneaky as I thought. I listen to them patter until I’m met by a soft nudge on my ankle and a purr that could wake the neighbors.
I debate whether or not to wash my hands before I head back to bed. It’s not because I’m pro “it’s okay, urine is sterile”, but whether or not dampening the warmth in my hands will wake me up further.*
Typing this out now at 4:28 a.m. makes me think I should have skipped it.
I’m a morning person without spoken words. I enjoy every aspect of morning time, but I wake up mute, which may come as a surprise if you know me well. I often speak what I think, feel, and need, especially in my writing when a spark of inspiration strikes. Now is that moment and I’m taking full advantage.
Lately my strikes of inspiration have been few and far between. With that, my motivation has been largely absent and I’ve had to muster up sheer willpower to tackle the day. I’ve never understood how much grit that takes. If that’s how you feel and what it takes for you to get by everyday, I commend you. But I also think you should get some help. I should too. We weren’t meant to tackle life alone.
All this thinking reminds me that I haven’t enjoyed my mornings in a while. A time when the air does still feel simple because you haven’t breathed in the complications of the day. Of real life. For a few moments you can just be; existing without any responsibility and instead of feeling guilty, it’s just a really beautiful moment.
This is what life should feel like. Maybe not everyday because let’s face it, we wouldn’t get anything done. We need stress to gain motivation and sadness to understand the beauty of joy. No one strives for anything if they already feel they have perfection; that’s why it stays blissfully unattainable.
That’s all I have to say, except of course, good morning.
*When I use the restroom in the middle of the night, I often debate on whether or not to wash my hands. Sometimes I feel like it wakes me up further. For instance, if I woke up still in a sleepy daze, but have to pee, I want to stay as much in that daze as possible so that when I’m finished, I will have the easiest time falling back asleep. When you add in an (unnecessary) obstacle of cold water, on your warm, sleepy hands, I feel like it ruins the daze. This is an experiment I’ve conducted for most of my conscious life.
And before any haters come out and say that I’m gross or unhygienic— chill. It’s literally just a little midnight tinkle and then I’m hopping right back in bed where my hands won’t be touching anything. Your phone is definitely much dirtier than my “pee hands” and I know you bring that infestation into bed with you without a second thought.
But anyways, let me know what you think.
Xoxo,
Laney
