I feel heavy. Like you feel when you try to haul yourself out of a swimming pool. Can’t open my eyes. My bones are weary. Head is heavy. And I can’t get enough sleep. Another half hour would be great.
And what would be the point of getting up anyway? Another day of working from morn till night, dragging by myself from hour to hour, lying to myself that there is a higher purpose to this daily drudgery?
Let’s give it one more day. Today’s a coffee day. Chai won’t cut it.
There’s something about coffee. Black coffee. Black coffee with heaps of sugar, that is. The first sip-gulp is like a slap of chilled water on your face on a scorching afternoon. Except that the coffee is hot. But the effect is the same, if that makes sense.
Am logged into work now. I have always found it fascinating how completing a meaningless series of chores (brush teeth, make coffee, drink coffee, have a bath) makes the day look better than it had when you didn’t even want to wake up.
But it works.
Now to get through the first hour. And then the next.