I reach my sleep-dead arm towards the makeshift headboard and it falls on the ever-growing cracked screen of the iPhone I finally acquired. New emails, mostly having to do with the outdoorsy-girl I was plummeting towards becoming, albeit ambitiously and ignorantly, four or so years ago . Coupons for the Clymb, Backcountry, Rei Garage, and so on.
Then there are the three or so voicemails from old bridges I haven’t deleted yet.
There is a text from Momma, a song to “have a listen to” when I can. Usually along the lines of Mazzy Star, Nico, or some new-agey cover of a favorite REM number. I miss you, I always reply.
Then the one I wanted last night at a human-hour, but never received. The long-awaited and bland:”i c”… or some other tepidly-missed opportunity
I wilt a little, the greyish Southern Californian light already muted out by words. I could have stretched. I could have reached down and layed my sleepy body onto my sweet 8 year old dog. Said good morning to this newness of the day and thanked the heavens and the cracks on the walls and the cobwebs in the corners for the chance to be alive.
Instead I shuffle over to our “kitchen”, pour some italian roasted grounds into the gifted coffee-pot, press Brew,and eat a small handful of skittles while the machine does it’s gurgling and sputtering steamy work.