After a three-day weekend, it was rough getting up yesterday morning. Well, it wasn’t for me—I got up at 8:30 like I would anyway—but when Melinda’s alarm rang at 5:45, man, that was tough for her.
Normally I can sleep through her alarm and her five subsequent snooze reminders, but today I couldn’t. I felt bad that she had to get up and go to work, so I let her know.
“I’m sorry honey,” I said, my face still buried in my pillow. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“You can make me some coffee,” she said.
Goddammit.
Come on, Melinda. You know the phrase do you need anything? is an empty gesture. Responding with an actual request is like when someone asks how you’re doing and you reply with anything other than I’m good, thanks.
Now it’s 6 a.m. and my dumb ass has to pull myself out of sleep, leave the warm comfort that I’d curated over the last seven hours, and navigate the treacherous journey to the kitchen in the pre-dawn light.
Just to be clear, when I asked if I could do anything, I meant like can I lie here semi-conscious and offer you whimpers of sympathy, or can I chuckle at a joke you make about calling in a bomb threat to your job.
Now I have to play the game where I try to keep my eyes open just enough to see where I’m going, but not enough that I lose that crust of sleep necessary for me to fall back asleep when this nightmare is all over.
I’m happy to report my mission was successful. I managed to deliver the coffee and return to bed before the blankets lost their heat, and within minutes, I was in a semi-coma.
“Are you going back to sleep?” Melinda asked as she put on her shoes.
“I’m getting up in a couple of minutes,” I mumbled. “I want to get the day started.”
“Yeah right,” Melinda said.
“I hope you have a great day at work,” I said. “Let me know if you need anything.”
I Don't Belong Here. 