I woke up late today, really late. Not that long ago in fact.
After another sleep of almost twelve hours, I jumped out of bed feeling like it was late afternoon. I still don’t know if this sleepiness is something to do with the virus, my age, or cumulative stress over all that is happening.
But whatever the cause, I am certainly missing almost five hours of my morning routine already.
My mind seems to have snapped out of the reverie that has occupied it recently. I have a book to read and review, promised to a magazine ten days ago, with a deadline by the end of the month. I have to get that done, as I hate to let people down.
Eating breakfast so late makes it lunch instead, and I am aware that before I know it, Ollie will need to go out for his long walk.
Even when you have ‘nothing to do’, it feels like you are spending the whole day catching up, and hurtling toward preparing dinner, followed by going to bed. I am only out of bed for a short time so far today, yet I can already visualise the moment when I will be climbing back into it.
Unusually for me, I forgot what I was thinking about when I woke up. Instead of a clear recollection, I only have snippets remaining. Like seeing the trailer of a film you forgot you had watched years ago. It was definitely something vivid, as I can see the face of the person I was talking to, someone I knew very well at one time. But I cannot put us in the time and place that was vivid in my mind at the moment I woke up.
For some reason, wanting to remember that feels very important to me today.
The sun is out, and it is not long until midday here. Sunday is half gone already, and I am concerned about remembering a dream.
That is so like me, it’s familiar, but scary.