mundane morning after

“Every one is a moon, and has a dark side which he never shows to anybody” -Mark Twain


Cate woke to an acheronian, overcast disposition, much like the weather
that greeted her when her eyes first opened. "I could just pull the covers over my
head and sleep all day." she thought to herself.
Anything was better than that curious feeling of falling she knew was imminent once
daylight hours started fading one by weary one. The curious feeling of falling.
Or perhaps choking. That horrible, frightening in-between life and death.
As simplistic and stupid as it may sound. You're not breathing but you're not
completely gone yet.
People have died from choking.

She pulled the covers over her head for a moment then tore them away almost as
quickly. She rose from her bed, tired, weak. Ready for the day to be over. She
looked at the clock on her nightstand. 6:48 am. She groaned inwardly wondering why
she was up so early. "I could've slept more." She had nowhere to be for another 2
hours.

She put on her flannel robe and trudged down the stairs to brew the coffee that
would sustain her for the day's entirety. She didn't like to eat in the morning.
She barely liked to eat at all. But she knew the next time she saw David he'd
lecture her about not eating enough. That she was getting too thin. Withering away.
She didn't care for a lecture. She didn't really care to see him either and it was
strange that they had not just broken it off ages ago. They had changed in recent
months. they were not the same people. when they started bickering relentlessly, she
knew. She knew it was pointless.
She was just indifferent now. there were too many things about him that annoyed
her and not enough things she liked.


She mulled such things over in her brain this dreary morning as her coffee maker
sputtered and spat out the rich brown substance that made her able to function on
days like these.
She glanced at the clock in the kitchen. It was in the moon's likeness.
7:06am. She poured her coffee, never putting anything in it. Black, raw coffee.
She inhaled the scent before partaking of it. Tired of the silence, she looked
through the cd case she kept with her collection of cds she'd had since she was
16.
Jazz seemed to fit this morning. She put it in and became saturated with the
intoxicating voice of Frank Sinatra.
she smiled and a chill entered her core. She pulled her robe closer around her. She always seemed too cold to be normal. It frightened her sometimes.
Touching the mass of black hair upon her head, she decided she might as well go shower now.
No point in just sitting around idly.
she left the music on. It made noise through the house which was better than the noise
in her head.