The dream fades, forgotten before I can grasp at it, shrinking away from the light seeping in through my sleeping half-closed eyelids. As consciousness impedes on my comfort I reach out, still without opening my eyes, to turn off the annoying sunlight. The switch doesn't move to my groggy consternation. I open my left eye, peering suspiciously at my alarm-lamp that simulates sunrise to wake me. The lamp is dark, the annoying light comes from the real sunrise.
Consternation is replaced with panic: work-late-sunup-hurrryyyyyy! I roll out of bed, landing in a crouch, adrenaline roaring. In the not-to-far distance a train rumbles past.
I never get further, as I suddenly realise it is saturday and if I go to work I will find nobody else there. My mental step by step preparation to get myself through my mourning routine on record time is brushed away - ignored! and instead I slouch off towards the bathroom, careful not to knock my head against anything.
A washcloth dripping with cool water applied to my face makes me able to open both eyes fully. I study my pony tail in the mirror but decide that since I am not intending to leave the Hermitage, it'll do. No brushing of hair to be attempted this early. I likewise ignore getting fully dressed, and head straight for the electric kettle. I have higher priorities, and on top of the list is caffeine.
While the water comes to a boil I spread plain cream cheese on a piece of bread, so that a minute later I have a small tray consisting of coffee, orange juice, bread, and a cocktail of allergy medicines. Breakfast is accompanied by leisurely surfing through all my usual haunts, lounging in my recliner. As usual I find Ravelry more interesting than the news.
I enjoy the silence for just over thirty minutes before it starts. The thumping. Again.
The upstairs neighbour is playing loud music. Bad loud music. I counter with my own favourites and the neighbour takes the hint, as he mostly does. I wonder what he does on the days I instead leave the house, listening to my music on my most beloved gadget, the mp3-player. Play as loud as he wants? Does anybody else ever complain? I guess I'll never know. I finally feel ready to get dressed. Might as well since I am up and moving anyway.
Since this is a day blessedly free from commuting and work, I find time to knit, thus postponing doing chores. The knitting develops my dexterity as I try to avoid poking the cat with my needles too many times. He studies my work and is obviously feeling chatty, because he tells me very vocally what I am doing wrong. He finds less fault with my work when I give him a hug.
Finally, as the sun sets, I remember I have things to do and settle for the lowest acceptable minimum: The trash gets taken out. The hallway smells of everybody else's dinners. Mostly good smells. Spice and garlic and frying onion. As usual I skip eating in a mix of self-flogging, laziness and lack of inspiration and appetite. I am going to bed soon enough anyway.
(The nine things: Wake up from light, washcloth to get the gunk out of my eyes and straighten my wild eyebrows which get an insane bedhead effect, get dressed, breakfast, medicines, internet, listening to music, talk to the cat, skipping dinner. These are part of ANY day in my life unless I am terribly ill.)