A Day In The Life

A Day In The Life

As I slowly drag my consciousness back from blissful dreamland, I am forced to throw it into the unforgiving dawn light. Before the stars go into hiding, and before the sun blooms into morning light, I rise. It’s time to prepare for the long day ahead.

It is now that I look my worst. The pre-dawn light does nothing to conceal the blemishes, the gray hair, or the newly found marks of time. My hair is something resembling a nest of tangles that pours over my shoulders and down my back. My eyes are puffy from the sleep they tried to squeeze out of the last few hours of darkness. My walk is stiff and painful, as is the movement of my hands. The gait is slow and somewhat unsteady. The only voice I hear is the conversation between my bladder and the bathroom down the hall.

My own personal little people are still dancing with the sandman in their sleeping state of innocence. My soul mate is dancing with his own dreams, whether of better things to come, or of the worries that come with being a man.

I walk quietly down the dimly lit hallway so as to not disturb the others. For sleep in itself is a wonderful thing. It is a time of renewal and rejuvenation. A time of no worries or pressures from the conscious world in which we reside during our waking hours.

As I make my way into the kitchen, lit only by a dim light from my radio, I find my two best friends beckoning me from the kitchen table. My empty, but soon to be filled coffee cup and my trusty cigarettes. Both are enemies to me, but neither could I do without. As the first swallow of hot, sweet, creamy coffee begins to clear the cobwebs of sleep from my head, I slowly begin to feel more human. When the first acrid smoke enters my lungs, I begin to think of what today will bring.

It’s beginning to get a little lighter outside. The subtle colors of orange, yellow, and pink are peeking through the pines in the eastern sky. Just fifteen more minutes of precious quiet before my little people must begin to ready themselves to conquer a world of their own. No matter how much I wish I could, I can not join them on this journey. I can not be there to comfort or protect them from this cold, cruel, world in which we live. I feel a certain fear in knowing this, and sadness in wondering if they really need me there anyway.

My soul mate may sleep through the early morning havoc. If he can, I let him. He’ll have enough to deal with when he leaves his dreamland behind.

By the time everyone else has risen for the day, my hair no longer looks a fright, my eyes appear more normal, my walk and my hands seem to be cooperating a lot better. I’m glad the others usually see me this way.
The day has officially started. The sun has begun its blazing trail toward the west. I now hear the cries of the house. With the radio blaring, I wash the first dishes of the day, and start the first load of clothes. Soon, they will be waving on the clothesline, both drying and soaking up the sunshine that I’ve been given to day. Then beds to make, floors to sweep, vacuum, and mop, counters and tables to clean off. It’s a daily list of wash this, dust that, clean this, move that. This goes here, that goes there. Rearrange the mess day by day. Just change the looks of it all, because I know I’ll never be really finished. Always tomorrow, always more to do.
The phone rings and snatches me away from a couple of daydreams. As I exchange daily pleasantries with my mother, I wonder if she had the same thoughts, dreams, and worries as I do when I was her little person? Will my little people one day worry me the way I’ve worried her? Probably.

Soon my little people come bursting through the door with the excitement that only a child could have. Anxiously, they each tell of their challenges and accomplishments of their day. I’m glad they are home. It makes me feel better. Soon, they are off to their rooms to prepare for a tomorrow they know nothing about.

After the evening meal is over, the kitchen clean again, and the last load of clothes is brought in, folded, and put away, I see again the colors of orange, pink and yellow. Only this time, they are in the western sky and my day is beginning to wind down. I realize I have the same things to look forward to tomorrow.

My little people, freshly bathed and smelling of sweet soap, will soon begin their nightly courtship of the moonlight and dancing with the sandman. They will be sleeping soundly, tucked in their beds, oblivious to the world around them. I ask God to watch over them, as I can’t join them here either. And while I’m at it, I ask Him to watch over my soul mate, too. I need him.

After the sun has closed up for the day, and the stars and moon take over the black velvet sky, I notice that this darkness is no different from the darkness before dawn. All are peacefully sleeping; the house is dimly lit and quiet. My hair is once again a cascading mess of tangles, my walk is stiff, and the eyes seem a little puffy. Once again, my two best friends and I are alone in the dark. After the last swallow of coffee is drained from my cup, and the last smoke is expelled from my lungs, I leave these friends alone on the table to wait for me ‘till morning.

As I turn back the cover, I give thanks for the sunshine and my accomplishments. When I feel my head hit the pillow, I pray. For forgiveness, courage, and wisdom. Soon I am drifting on the planes between two worlds. The one, consciousness of the waking world, the other, the sheer bliss of quiet, peace, and dreams. I sleep.