The First Five MInutes

It feels as if I'm hurtling straight up from somewhere very deep. Then it comes to a total stop without whiplash. My eyes open and I am now awake.

 

This feeling doesn't happen all the time, but I can go from lightly dreaming in my sleep to wide awake in what feels like seconds. I was lying in my bed, looking at the ceiling wondering what time it was. The house is dark and I hear the rain pattering the siding. Ah I think, it's still Sunday and they did predict rain. With this I can fixate my spot on the map. Sunday. Home. Rain. Quiet. It must be late afternoon and you've awaken from a nap.

 

I lie there, enjoying the stillness for once instead of jumping out of bed. Rain bands come and I can hear the pelting rise and then fall a few minutes later. The drain spout outside my window will start gurgling louder now, after this burst of rain. I like the sound.

I keep still. Any movement will warn the dog and he'll jump up with his silly, happy abandon when he realizes that I'm not dead. I swear he has celebrated every single time I've gotten up. I should be thankful about that, but having a boisterous welcoming party next to your bed every morning isn't my idea of easing into the day. So, I keep still.

 

I'm nicely cocooned in this bed and feel tingly as well. The TechLoft quilt I have has keeps me nearly stinging warm, not a bad feeling in winter. I listen closely for any of the usual neighborhood sounds but hear none. Everyone else has done what I have done, and that's to rustle deeper into your nest. Why go out into 35 degree rain if you can avoid it?

 

As my mind clears and shakes off the sleepiness, I run the calendar in my head. “What do you have to do now?” I think, scan and remember that there's nothing of import to get done, the day's chores were done hours ago. Freedom!

 

I finally rustle the quilt and swing my legs out of bed, nearly smacking the dog as he has quickly bolted straight up, from where he sleeps, which is right by me on the floor. I sit there, trying to move my dog's twenty pound Neanderthal skull off my lap. Where he learned to plop his head in my lap after I sit up I do not know. We do this every time. This is part of his celebrating I suppose.

 

I don't turn on the lights, I seem to prefer it dark. I go to the West front window and look out. Everything's slick and dark. The street pavement shines. I see the snow is melting and I quietly cheer to myself, “Yes! Get rid of it!” I go to the East window on the other side, yes, same blackness and slick shine to everything. That's OK because I'm dry and beaming warm still from the NASA quilt I own.

 

I walk by the darkened den and see the computer and monitor LED's blinking away. The living room's stereo does the same, little Christmas lights winking on and off. I finally get to the bathroom, to do you-know-what. I have much Coca Cola in me and it wants out. The dog still thinks he can follow me in, after eight years of being told “No!” With a thud, he'll plop on the floor and wait for me.

 

After this, I go to the living room, sit on the couch and stretch halfway out. My eyes dimly focus on the ceiling above and I notice how damned relaxed I am. Great!