A lot of times it's morning by the time I finally fall asleep. So it doesn't really matter what time I wake up to see my first light of the new day. The routine is always the same:
Bleary-eyed I reach for my phone to see if she contacted me during the night, or read the poem I messaged her on Facebook. My heart has a hopeful pulse, but I prevent a tear when I realize that she has not indeed sent any communication in return. At this point, I may try to fall back to sleep and see if going back to my dreams of her works to improve my chances of a text when waking again in a couple of hours. But most likely I won't fall back to sleep. Instead I move on to check my email and rub the eye snots out of the corners of my eyes if it seems that anything is important enough to read. If I wake up after noon, that spam account is quite full of funny emails for breast implants, penis growth supplements and Russian brides.
When my head says I'm ready, I sit up, I think of her, I stand, and walk over to the sink. I think I've been using the same old salsa jar for my morning water ritual for almost two months now...not sure if I've washed it too many times over those months. The water thing has really helped for reals; it's actually nice to look in the mirror lately and see myself shrinking (but I guess that also comes from the lessening of late night drinking, well, all the time drinking). I notice the gray proliferating its way down my chest with each day though. I think she notices how trim I'm getting and how much my body and the glow radiating forth from my soul have become much brighter lately. Immediately following the pounding of a quart of water, I slosh into the bathroom for the other morning ritual, the one that is not brushing my teeth.
I sit for a bit and play Words With Friends laughing at how my little brother is a high school principal to whom I constantly put a whooping. Then maybe check the news of Facebook from the night before and see my uncle's inspirational message of the day, perhaps a grumble about mornings from so-and-s, or excited anticipation of another so-and-so having the day off of their 9 to 5. I look at her picture on her profile and miss not being next to her as I arose from the couch where I slept. (I think I've only slept in the bed twice in as many months. Sometimes I'm lucky enough to steal a night with her by my side, in which case we share my bed and I'm happy as the cutest little pig in the most clean and beautiful slop.)
Her devilish grin slightly held back, knowing eyes peer out from the tiny screen into mine. The photo is black and white, or that sepia shit or whatever. It hardly holds back the colors I know she throws out to the world around her, how her golden brown, copper, and orange locks look constantly tousled as if just having a fresh toss in the hay. Hmmm, what's the weather supposed to be like today? Let's get off of Facebook and out of the bathroom now.
Breakfast might be the most important meal of the day, but my appetite has been so small lately. I always feel like eating breakfast food when I wake up, though that doesn't mean I ever eat them. I love pancakes and omelets and breakfast sandwiches, but the motivation to make food...to try and eat it, is totally not there. Both the ideas of taking in less calories and having no one to feed just make me lose my drive. It's so beautiful out, yet I stay inside.
I go sit on the couch and decide how to try and not think of her today. I try not to think of the why of her absence. That's far too heavy a meal this early in the day. Lists of errands and the attempt to "get a real job" can take my mind off of her. Morning can bring a ray of hope if I know I may get a chance to see her or hear her voice. Mornings are a time when I realize the day is already shot if that is not an option. Mornings are not a specific time of day; they are a feeling. The tone of my day is set by the time I have shaken off yesterday's hopes and the dreams in between my last waking reality and this moment. My mornings so different when she is here...
...when she was here.
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