Morning Rush

I was grateful that I'd showered last night as the Brooklyn sun trickled into my room and my alarm clock blared flashing 6:30 AM. I reached up towards my window sill, where my clock sat, and hit the snooze button. Sliding my arms back underneath the warmth of my delicious covers, I closed my eyes and reverted back into a state of weightlessness. It would be impossible to sleep now. My orange-brown irises had already crept open breaking from their dream, and reality was ruffling me awake. My reality was that the room was silent, void of the noises that used to greet me in the morning. The sound of my cat, Tiny squeaking soft meows at me, begging me up to feed her. The sounds of D laying beside me, snoring through is gaping throat. A sound that used to keep me awake, but somehow comforted me like a meditation CD. His symphony of snorts would break with the interruption of my alarm clock and he'd say, "Good morning, Boogie." through closed eyes and muffled lips. It was always harder to get out of bed with him beside me. It felt unnatural to leave his side. I always felt compelled to call off work, get up and cook him a big breakfast before he himself headed off to San Ramon, where he worked. I knew as soon as I pushed myself out of bed, I'd be on the hunt. To find something to wear, to search for my bag and keys, to grab something for lunch and hurry off to my hour-long commute. He'd always ask for a kiss before I left, and by then I was flurried and late. Most of the time I'd roll my eyes, rush back and give him a quick peck careful not to smear my lip gloss. 9 times out of 10 I'd end up strutting back down our hallway, and swinging open the door to our apartment, huffing into our bedroom and grabbing what I'd forgotten (usually my cell phone). He'd sit there in our bed like a king, relaxed and watching the sports highlights with the remote in his hand, since he didn't have to be to work for another few hours. It always made me feel like a failure for some reason. I should be in his position. Happy with myself, content with my job, degreed-up as they say, and deciding when I come into the office. Instead I was rushing off to a job that under-paid and never stopped to say 'thank you'. D never knew, but before I'd throw myself into my morning rush, before my feet touched the floor, I'd always lean over and slowly kiss his forehead, smelling the morning on his skin and closing my eyes to his warmth.

Now, as the clock changed from 6:59 to 7:00 I had no motivation to stay in bed any longer than I should. Nothing to kiss before my feet touched the ground. Just the idea of what today might bring or take away from me. And the endless and distant possibilities that might come. Sometimes it's easier to look at what might be rather than what is. And the idea of doing things different this time can take over our fears of failing. In the morning, we seem to have no choice but to get up and greet the day. But don't rush. The minutes won't pass quicker just because we've hurried out the door. Leaving behind the warmth of a sun lit room and whatever we might have forgotten there.