Waking up begins with saying am and now.
For the past eight months waking up has actually hurt. The cold realization that I am still here slowly sets in.
I was never terribly fond of waking up.
I was never one to jump out of bed and greet the day with a smile like Jim was.
I used to want to punch him sometimes in the morning he was so happy.
I always used to tell him that only fools greet the day with a smile, that only fools could possibly
escape the simple truth that now isnʼt simply now: itʼs a cold reminder. One day later than yesterday, one year later than last year and that sooner or later it will come.
He used to laugh at me and then give me a kiss on the cheek.
It takes time in the morning for me to become George, time to adjust to what is expected of George and how he is to behave.
By the time I have dressed and put the final layer of polish on the now slightly stiff but quite perfect George I know fully what part Iʼm supposed to play.
Looking in the mirror staring back at me isnʼt so much a face as the expression of a predicament.
Just get through the goddamn day.
A bit melodramatic I guess.
But then again my heart has been broken.
I feel as If I am sinking, drowning, can’t breathe.