When my eyes open, there is none of the usual morning fog. I have slept just enough, and now I am awake.
The blankets are warm atop me, but I don’t need to stay beneath them. I cast them off and roll over and up. I stand and unplug my phone and step into the master bath.
It’s chilly, but not uncomfortably so. It feels like expectation: bare feet on cool floor, cool air tingling against bare arms and legs.
I stand at the vanity and sort supplements into my pill box: D3 for Monday and Thursday, everything else every day. Multivitamin. Calcium. Probiotic. Iron. And birth control, not because I can conceive but simply to regulate my damaged system.
I think about how much longer this day will be for me than yesterday–yesterday, when I slept until midday and napped in the afternoon. I feel rested and ready for whatever I might do today. I feel excited. I feel the promise of the day. All the things I might choose to do sit out ahead, waiting patiently for my decision. I can choose whatever I want; I feel no particular pressure.
I shower, get dressed, eschew eye makeup. I pull on jeans and a long-sleeved shirt and white socks and sneakers. I grab a protein shake and start a load of laundry.
At my computer, I review the things I’d thought of doing yesterday. Toward the end of the night I’d come across a beautiful photo of a waterfall. It’s two hours away in a national preserve. I think about going there. And again, I feel excited.
The day is so full of potential. I won’t waste it. I’ll wait until the load of laundry is washed. I’ll put it in the dryer. And then I’ll head out into the world.