Monday morning and its a quarter to six as I sit here at my worn wooden desk. I’ve got my little purple booklight attached at a workable angle so that it shines only, but brightly, focused on my notebook. With Elle still asleep in one of her innumerable bizarre positions across the small room I am weary of waking her with the searing glare of the overhead. I think its nicer this way though, with darkness still curling around the edges of my periphery. Its makes me feels like I am the only person in the world thats awake at the moment enjoying this unnatural silence. Everyone else will be up soon enough.
With my head in my hand I find myself staring vacantly at the light greenish-gray wall in front of me, my mind miles away. Its pleasantly surprising to realize that my palm is actually cupping cheek. There is actual, real, soft flesh on my face. I have a presence of health, of life, to now rest in my hand. It has replaced the angular strictness of my jawbone and the definitive protrusion of facial contours. I’m starting to feel a little more whole, more like a person of substance, one who matters, these days. Its a good feeling that for me can only be described as having previously been a ghost that is now slowly coming back to life. If this is what reincarnation is then I’m all for it.
The little Buddha belly, that I’m told only I notice, has gone again. It builds up at the end of each day and then quietly disappears as I sleep. I’m hungry and my stomach is audibly reminding me of that fact but breakfast is still an hour and a half away. I know all things in their due time but my stomach remains impatient. I breathe and realize that my fingertips still smell like oranges, the result of dinner last night. The scent doesn’t help to quiet my belly. This morning we have weights again and, although I was sure yesterday that I wouldn’t have a problem due to the fullness, at this point I’m a little bit wary. Its all due to what I have dubbed “that wacky metabolism”. We’ve all got it here, loud and clear, and none of us can predict it.
So the clock ticks and dawn slowly breaks outside illuminating the eastern windows of the tall surrounding buildings in gold. Its supposed to be another hot one today although not as bad as the last few weeks this heat wave has laid on all of us. When I checked the computer the prediction was a high of 90 with sun. Hopefully the mugginess will stay to a minimum. Thats whats been the real killer during fresh air breaks recently. Its hard not wanting to be continuously cooped up indoors but also not wanting to be bathing in my own sweat upon the first step outside. This is one time a happy medium may not be found.
I hear a soft “whump” behind me and turn to see that Elle has knocked her pillow to the linoleum floor in her sleep again. She is softly snoozing on her back with one leg awkwardly crossed over the other and everything from the collarbone up is hanging off the edge of the bed along with her right arm. I have no idea how she sleeps like that but, whatever the reason, it seems to work for her. I rise from my desk to retrieve the lost pillow and smile to myself as I put it down by her feet, the only place on the mattress with enough room. Just then there is a knock at the door and the announcement of “weights” peals loud and clear before traveling on down the hall toward the other rooms. I put on my socks and step out to begin the day.
Sockhop 