Wednesday, March 09, 2005

Swaddled- A Fictional Tale

I vaguely heard the beeping from my alarm. It was five am. Another day. Great, I thought dryly. The alarm was set early so I could get out for a walk.
Every night I pulled the covers over my head vowing that the next morning would be the one I got up and exercised. Got moving. Greeted the day. So far, when the morning came despite my sincere desire to go walking, I was overwhelmed with resentment. The day was not my own. I had to go to work. I had to be there by a certain time. I had to stay there all day. When I realized it was a new day, I would have a bright idea. Maybe get some cafe au lait and beignets down by the river. Maybe read a new book. Nope. Got to go to work...
This morning I toyed with rolling over, pulling the down back over my head. The morning chill made the sheets feel even warmer. Even though they're only cotton, my body rubbed against the mattress like it was covered in cashmere. Instead of stretching out, I roll into a tight ball. And drift back to twilight.
When I come to consciousness again, I don't move right away. First I try and guess what time it is. Six-thirty, seven? I reach between the pillows and grab the remote control. Finally shifting my weight, I aim the control to turn on the television. When I hear Matt and Katie, more calculations in my brain. If I get moving right now, I could still leave for work 'on time.' Sometimes I take the challenge. Sometimes I say, fuck it, I'm already late, why bother.
This morning I split the difference. Instead of seven-thirty, I leave the house at eight. I figure I won't get to work by eight-thirty. So what. Maybe I should stop for breakfast. If I'm going to be late, there's no need to be hungry too. I think about it all through rush hour traffic on the parkway. McDonald's? Wendy's? Starbuck's? Who gives a ? I can't believe I am still dragging my ass to this joke of a job anyway. When I got fired from my last job, I took it really hard. My self-esteem was lagging and my mother swooped in and convinced me to move back home. It's not that I hate it here, but it's pretty close. I'm in my mid-thirties, up to my ass in debt. And now I'm back at home with a crap-tastic job. Excellent. I realize my cell phone is ringing. How the hell am I going to reach the phone and steer at the same time? And who the hell calls during commute time? I hold the wheel with my left hand and lean over to fish the cell phone out of my purse. When I check the caller id, I wonder if this is a call I want to take...

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