It Is Always Darkest . . .

It is now official. Darkness is creeping in and surrounding my days. This is no metaphor. I rise before the crack of dawn. I actually witness the crack of dawn. There are people who worship at dawn. I would rather be sleeping. I crawl from beneath my warm blankets and feel my way across the room to the bathroom door, so as not to awaken my honey(except with muttered curses as a ram my toes into invisible objects). Did I mention that it is cold also, but not quite cold enough for a fire. Soon I will stagger out to the pile of wood in my garage, gather a tote of wood blocks, tote it into the house, build a clumsy structure with my frozen fingers, and light it on fire, all this before truly waking (Ahh that blissful fugue state in which any insane act is actually doable). I expect to be totally used to this idea by tomorrow or the next day. At least it’s Friday and tomorrow I can rise after dawn has cracked and the blessed light preserves my toes.

This entry was posted in can't really complain but, change, House and home, Telling Stories and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

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