23 Hours - part one

00.00. The alarm goes off and drills into my sleep 'fracking' the depths of my mind and bringing muddled thoughts to the surface. I am awake, but it takes a few moments before I can remember why I set the alarm. I consider hitting the 'doze' button but I know I have left the minimum amount of time to get ready. Pushing back the duvet with an arm which is both leaden and fizzing with the shock of the rude awakening I swing my legs over the side of the mattress.

00.05. I have silenced the chirruping fool that sought to disturb my rest and stare at the time on the alarm clock. The vibrant red angular numbers are shapes from a distant past. They come from the time when watches and calculators were first introduced. The new digital font was a source of much amusement to young boys at school back then. How much joy was produced by turning the display upside down to reveal ‘B00BS’?

00.10. The shuffled walk across to the bathroom. At this point of awakeness the effort of my lifting feet higher than the top of the pile of the carpet seems unimaginable. As a result I am accompanied by a sound similar to corduroy chaffing. Hips and legs have not received the requisite amount of blood to tackle such a high-energy workout. The light in the bathroom is sharp and cutting in its criticism of my sagging physique.

00.15. I will attempt my ablutions. A lovely word that holds my attention and allows my mind to imagine the contorted shapes my mouth could make uttering the sound-  aaaabbbbloooooooshunssss. It is too early to attempt real speech. I know it need a mug of tea to clear the gravel from the path of my throat to allow the words out smoothly. This will be a long day so I will change the blade in my razor to ensure the closest of shaves.

00.20. A nagging voice in my head was reminding me about something that happens with new razor blades and me. The drips of blood in the sink and the confetti like toilet paper around my chin provide a visible reference for future memory loss. I stare at my face and remember looking up at my father in similar situations. How brave he seemed to a young child carrying such pain and loss of blood without complaint.

00.25. The one element of the morning I cannot accurately calculate, how quickly will my bowels listen to the messages from my head? This is not a time they are normally awake and they seem confused at the request to evacuate. I fear they believe that it is a dream state trick and that to obey could result in a lot of sheet washing and blame. Still, the strain appears to have coagulated the blood on my face and I now have small white flowers with a single red dotted stamen over my chin.