29.05.02 – Wednesday
It starts in the morning with laundry. No — that’s not quite it. It starts when they knock on my door at eight a.m. and I am not yet awake; in truth, I had opened my eyes to face the world at a quarter to seven, but the world at that point seemed irrelevant to my pursuits, and my eyes closed of their own accord.
So it starts with a knock on the door. I roll, quite literally, out of bed, instinct alone responsible for the presence of my feet below my head, which allows, with some twisting, an upright posture. The blankets, too, tumble to the floor and I look at them and realize that I have not spent the night under the blanket I had curled under at midnight, but under the quilt on top of which I had fallen asleep. Momentarily, this seems odd.
Another knock at the door, now sharper, less patient. I fumble at the door, trying to open it, but it will not budge, the knob won’t turn—because it’s locked. I twist the lock and the door swings open, sticking only slightly. And there is the day, waiting to begin.