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.
00.30. I shower quickly trying to win back lost time. How
could I have believed when I set the alarm that I could be ready to leave the
house with such a short preparatory time? In attempting to move quickly I am
more violent in my washing. What good the toilet paper has done to my bleeding
face is reversed by my hands. A light blood coloured water now runs towards the
plug. What time I have gained will be lost in re-patching my cuts
00.35. I brush my teeth and then dry with a towel still damp
from the previous night and then struggle to pull socks over slightly damp
feet. Having repapered my face I risk putting on a white shirt and finally
finish with trousers. I glance at the alarm. It’s going to be tight but I can
still make it. Well, I have to make it. I dash downstairs and realise that I
have no time for tea so drink a glass of orange juice which performs a chemical
reaction with the remnants of toothpaste.
00.40 For God’s sake what is it with laces when you are in a
hurry. Like Medusa’s hair they fight with my hands as snakes. I hear myself
shouting at them “I’m going to strangle you if you don’t help me.” What sort of
a threat is that to shoe laces? Finally, by breathing deeply and moving
slightly more slowly I am able to secure the footware. “Less speed, more
haste,” I mutter as I make my way to the hall way and glance in the mirror.
00.45 One look and I realise that my blood stopping skills
are not at the paramedic level and my collar looks like the inside of a
dentists spittoon. It is too late to change and I realise I am going to be
conscious of my Sweeny Todd neck for the rest of the day. Whilst coming to
terms with this I find myself thinking that the expression is “More speed, less
haste.” The alarm on my phone goes off. Five minutes left.
00.50. In switching off the phone alarm I realise I have
forgotten or failed to charge it. The battery is at 27%. Probably not enough to
even get through to lunchtime. I plug in the lead for a five minute burst and
make my way to cupboard under the stairs. Opening the door the light from the
hall falls on the package. Wrapped in anonymous brown paper it looks as
innocent as an angel. I pick it up nervously and place it inside my briefcase.
00.55. The doorbell rings as I am slipping on my coat. I
unbolt the door and open it a fraction. “Taxi,” says a jaded looking man with
yellow skin. “One minute,” I reply pushing the door to and checking my face and
clothes again. I pick up my case and am about to leave when I remember my
phone. I pull it from the lead and notice the switch at the wall is off.
Brilliant. Down to 26%. This is not what I need today of all days.
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