Coffee: French Roast, Trader Joe’s Brand
Another rainy morning.
Most of my life I’ve been a morning person. You couldn’t get me to sleep as a kid. I’d wake up early and want the whole world served to me like toast and butter. I’ve got vivid memories of naptime – no sleeping, just a rouge room colored by the not-quite-thick-enough curtains, rolling around restless in a crib, reading pictures books over and over with photos of old ladies or elephants and little bumps or dawdles to scratch your fingers on.
I’m still an early riser, though it doesn’t come as easy.
But there was one year when everything changed. I was 20/21. She was 21/22. She was going to school in Charlotte and I didn’t have a car so I took trains to see her. I’d stay down most weekends, even longer in the summer, and I don’t know if it was the travel, the air pollution, something in the water but I stopped falling asleep or getting up early. I’d be up until 3am. We’d get out of bed past noon. Most nights, she’d be out before me so I’d stay up watching things – half my attention to the miasma of whatever-was-on-the-TV, half to her closed-off face. She had this look like she was perpetually going away from something.
That’s when I learned that you can let people change you. And sometimes, afterward, you can change yourself back.
Novel Count: 8,980 words
Currently Reading: Autumn, Ali Smith; Cherry, Nico Walker
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“I love sleep. My life has the tendency to fall apart when I’m awake, you know?” – Ernest Hemingway