another morning
As I raise my head from the pillow and blink my eyes open full into the blinding and abusive light of a Calgary winter dawn, I run an internal systems check.
I find nothing unusual, given the time of day. My lower back aches, my shoulders are tight, there is a pain over my right eye, my brain is swollen by dreams inside my skull. I do a yoga stretch up to the headboard, roll my head to let the whole mess slosh around and, pausing to poke the dog awake, stagger in the direction of the hot, hot water to relax my muscles. It's on occasions like these (ie: the beginning of every day) that I thank God I live alone, for it is a simple fact that I find it difficult to tolerate close contact with others in an increasing amount of circumstances but almost impossible before nine. Unthinkable without caffeine, for without coffee I am incoherent and weak in the morning, snappish by noon and helpless by 3 o'clock.
Waking up in a state of physical suffering is quite simply a side effect of a bad back, and, I suspect, a twisted refusal to give up the duck down feather bed but one which I have learned to live with. And, occasionally, when the budget permits, to marvel in living without.
But, standing in the shower this morning, I searched my mind for a sense of purpose.
And nothing came to me.
This too, thinking back, is not unusual. A phase. Maybe brought on by the Christmas season. Maybe what makes is so immediate, is that now - here- I've forced myself to say it out loud.
And opened up the door to having all of you watch me search to find it again.
December 2, 2003