a real morning

I wake up slowly and stare at the eleven by thirteen space encapsulating me. Yellow walls press false cheer and rebound the meager light coming through the slats of my blinds as though it were a supernova. I don't feel very good. Perhaps it's because I did very little yesterday to have warranted the amount of sleep I allowed myself.

I stare at a lamp cord hanging out from behind my dresser, a black snake against the yellow walls. I consider putting it back. I've considered putting it back for days.

As thoughts start to cascade into my consciousness, I realize I am awake and not going back to sleep as I had previously intended.

Maybe he'll come. A pathetic thought, and I shake it off immediately. He hasn't, he won't.

I consider what I could possibly make of today. Possibilities wide open, waiting, ripe. It feels like convincing. I could go shopping. There's a litany of reasons batting my idea down, only the most kosher of which being that I don't especially need anything. Ah, the plight of being a twenty-something year old woman.

I could call my best friend. Maybe he'd come. A small voice in the back of my head snorts derisively. And be the cause of disruption to what was calm and peaceful before I dared call? And he's probably busy anyway, if not physically then mentally. A new job overrides his psyche and he becomes very tense consistently until he settles in completely, which could take weeks. He would not come.

I consider the date. June 10th. The day of Shakespeare in the Park, to which I was invited by a good friend. The preset tone of the day knocks that idea away, as well. And endure the heat and humidity and cicadas? I daresay not. And to ride all the way downtown alone, then wander around the park searching for this random group of people, only one of whom I like, alone... no.


I close my eyes.


I could go fucking bungee jumping. I could conquer a new world. I could write the next great American novel, hold it to my chest and cry into its freshly printed pages, whispering "You're finally here". I could drive all the way to the southern-most tip of South America, admire the view, and turn right around. I could fall in love. I could learn to dance.


More likely than not, I will make my bed only to lay on it all day, draining my everything watching TV or playing a computer game. Maybe I won't even make my bed.