morning head: Stink Eye.
I’m not sure which is the more disconcerting thing to wake to, the sunlight streaming in the balcony door, or the cat, mere inches from my face, giving me the stinkeye because dawn has come and gone and he hasn’t had his fucking breakfast yet.
As a general rule I’m either out of bed and at work well before the sun makes an appearance, or I’m out of bed and desperately trying to be alive enough to attend to the cupboard-opening, drawer-emptying needs of the smiling juggernaut whilst attempting to brew coffee with the free hand – also before the sun shows up, though by a narrower margin.
This whole waking up in broad daylight is become a foreign and disturbing experience. The brain doesn’t know what to make of it. The cat does: breakfast.
This is more familiar, existing at the whim of miniature dictators, and the body responds independently of any activity north of the shoulders.
Several cups of coffee in, and the brain is still trying to plot a course through the strange and uncharted waters ahead, an ocean of time so vast it’s almost terrifying. I fear in attempting to cross ten days to myself I might just sail off the edge of the world.