/ Day 15

It is like waking, these last few days.

What are you waking from? she would ask, lifting her nose from the pages of her book.

I wish I knew, but it feels like it must have been a struggle, because my eyelids are still heavy, and I cannot blink hard enough to temper the brightness of the lightness of the dawning of the days.

Maybe it was me, she said, maybe I was your struggle, and if that is the case, you have my sympathy, because I can be cruel and heartless.

No, I said, no, I don't think I would have slept through a struggle with you, I would have pinched myself awake and slammed headfirst into your body and taken my chances. It had to have been something else. Not heartless, but something that offered some sort of voyage, a free trip to some temptation nearly enough to fall out of my old routine, and you know how much I adore my habits.

You do. It is charming and infuriating.

Lately, she has taken to tucking old black and white photographs into the corners of paintings and portraits. It's lovely, and makes it seem like we have lived in this house for decades, and these are the footprints of graduated generations. But it's sad in that it belies our intentions to leave, and we eventually will need to grind the mortar that bears our children's handprints and initials.

I have no problem admitting that I have always awaited the new, whether that is a move or a different job or some sort of survivable cosmic collision. I am newly mature, have even cut back on my profanities, but I still hold on to the hope of what is around the bend. A co-worker of mine recently retired after working in the same job for 35 years. I haven't stopped shuddering. The thought that with my one chance here on planet hollywood I would get into UGH a routine is almost more than I can bear.

It was easier when everything was clouded in booze, though, and I always had something new to look forward to at the end of the day, this is what I told myself, anyway, but now I am pissed at my old best friend because it represented the queen of routine. My mild anesthetic that allowed me to slowly amputate my legs then my arms then my head.

To think, I was actually purchasing the gasoline that fueled my rut. Thank god I didn't have to overcome religion along with my addiction. My parents go to church every Sunday and have their entire lives. I can barely control my shuddering.

I only wish I could figure out what I'm waking from, what I'm waking to.