Every morning. The same routine; wake up, lay there and assess life, push the time until there is only have half an hour to get ready, then get up and scramble to get everything together. No self-care. No make-up. No morning shower. Just a reality check and go.

But today, for some God-awful reason, I woke up early. And not just a normal early where I have enough time to get myself together, in which I will l not continue a practice out of laziness and self-pity, but, the kind of early where I could contemplate. Contemplate on making coffee, taking a shower, and even a little makeup, which I enjoyed on an occasion where I wouldn’t get judged, but I sat there at my kitchen table and panicked.

I only gave time in my life for what needed to happen at the very moment. But now I have a large moment to myself. How does one get ready for the day that could benefit me more than what I already do? As soon as I asked that, my brain unloaded all the responsible events that could happen with my time which could wake my body up.

The thought about making coffee popped up again. Doing that seemed like a good first step at whatever I was attempting to get out of this. But I couldn’t help thinking more. Feeling weird about being by myself, even though it was a constant life. There was more wanting to go on inside of me but I couldn’t understand what.

So, coffee; I made with heavy sugar and cream. The wait felt weird but another urge to write helped me flow with the morning. So grabbing my coffee, I sat down on the lanai couch and drank while watching the sun rise to my written words of encouragement towards myself. A small, unknowing smile played across my lips, I felt at ease and with myself. I could only view this waking up, as giving the world a second to get ready, instead of just bombing the day with my presence.

Every day, the same callouts to the same neighbors that do the same routine every goddamn day, too. What a world we live in. I watched as people went about their day, their concepts intruded in my thoughts and wondered why anybody could continue this charade to begin with. But here I go, down the same lonely, crowded street with people passing without another glance, straight through to the job that awaits my presence. Or I’d like to think. Straight through the bustle, work’s door gaped at me like an inviting mouth, waiting to swallow my time and energy. But it seemed working anywhere was a drag, unless you were happy. So make the most of it.

Forcing smiles, making sure my reactions are not offensive. But enjoying the creation of a product that can be shared by others of my own touch. But I was only an employee and it was not my ideas. So there goes the credentials that gave me pride in my work. I’m feeling like a ghost, now. Not seen. Heard. Cared for. My presence is slim and there’s a lot of energy into getting peoples attention.

A large sigh escapes her lips and a shiver runs down the spine of her coworker. He could feel the distress. But didn’t attend to it, unbeknownst. She pounded her fists on the table and the coworker jumped. The sound made him turn pale and she wondered why it bothered him so much.

The end of the shift reached faster than time could move, which only made her more excited to get home. So out the door she goes, clocking in her last minute, heading down the street of thinning people. Citizens were entering their houses and locking their doors for the night, and she was almost there. The streets echoed silence and loud birds, distant laughters had died down, people were stilling. Almost home. Night covered everything in complete darkness. Arriving home, i shrugged everything off. But when I look in the mirror on the back of my bedroom door, I was filthy. Bloody. A mess, that was almost unrecognizable. How did this happen? Pitch black enveloped me.

Every morning. The same routine.