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Oct. 27th, 2018 02:58 amIt is 7:59am. I happen to roll over and she stirs next to me. A moment later, an alarm is barely audible through two doors, one that tells me what time it is before I’m even awake enough to look at the time. Through a wall, another door opens and shuts, keys jangle in a bowl, and then footsteps down the hallway and a knock at the door outside mine. “Can I come in?”, I hear, as I contemplate breakfast for 4.
It is 2:30am. I awake to the sound of snoring through two open doors. I push aside the computer which was laid haphazardly on the bed next to me and stand to get a drink. My sequined gown cascades downward and I am again splendorous. As I sip my hastily poured bubbly water, I step into the dining room. I find the third of us asleep on the couch, never having made it to bed from watching TV. The picture that it settled on while unattended casts an eerie glow back across the room.
I use the bathroom and the cats make a point to wander in and out past me, taking water a couple feet away. The older one pauses at my feet, brushing his fur against my stockings that match it in tone. Someone walking past outside raises their voice to a foe I can’t hear, making several slurs in the process that seem unlikely to actually describe the other person. I wonder if I should go investigate, but the voice passes. At last I finish. Standing, I stumble back to bed, failing to take off the makeup which I’d planned, so many hours before, around the idea of a trip for cocktails. The next 48 hours are heavily planned, though, all leading up to a moment where I’ll awake again at a similarly inhumane hour and head off to the airport in the metropolis looming to my north for a trip. Maybe when I return from that journey, I tell myself, one I’m not at all anxious to make.
It is 2:30am. I awake to the sound of snoring through two open doors. I push aside the computer which was laid haphazardly on the bed next to me and stand to get a drink. My sequined gown cascades downward and I am again splendorous. As I sip my hastily poured bubbly water, I step into the dining room. I find the third of us asleep on the couch, never having made it to bed from watching TV. The picture that it settled on while unattended casts an eerie glow back across the room.
I use the bathroom and the cats make a point to wander in and out past me, taking water a couple feet away. The older one pauses at my feet, brushing his fur against my stockings that match it in tone. Someone walking past outside raises their voice to a foe I can’t hear, making several slurs in the process that seem unlikely to actually describe the other person. I wonder if I should go investigate, but the voice passes. At last I finish. Standing, I stumble back to bed, failing to take off the makeup which I’d planned, so many hours before, around the idea of a trip for cocktails. The next 48 hours are heavily planned, though, all leading up to a moment where I’ll awake again at a similarly inhumane hour and head off to the airport in the metropolis looming to my north for a trip. Maybe when I return from that journey, I tell myself, one I’m not at all anxious to make.
