And it was indeed a deep sleep from which he awoke. Sore his head was, but not pounding. Still tired, but more alert. No more feeling of giving up on the day, but certainly the feeling of not wanting to repeat the prior night’s actions remained strong.
Feeling a strange weight on his feet, he looked at them and noticed that his shoes were on, rather than off. He wasn’t sure as to why he went to bed with them, but he did remember walking to the shops barefoot. He moved to take the shoes off quickly and have a look for anything that may have embedded itself in his feet.
There didn’t seem to be much other than a few small shards of glass. Nothing penetrated too deep. Nothing was difficult to remove. Some disinfectant was applied, then the small cuts were carefully wrapped. His feet were going to hurt for a few days, but the cuts were going to contribute the least to that pain.
He checked the time to see for how long he’d been asleep. It appeared as though it hadn’t been too long at all. Maybe three hours. It was still before midday, which meant there still was a fair bit of the day to go before sleeping through the night. He wasn’t exactly thrilled with this, but it was better to not try and sleep again for now, lest he spend the night awake. That certainly was something he’d much have preferred to avoid. There was still things that needed to be done on the following day and those would require a better rest.
However, that was all in the future. His throat and body felt dry. He needed water. He needed something for the headache. He needed to take it easy, but he needed to get up once more and satiate his need for hydration.
And so steadily from the bed once more he rose. His feet were hurting as they felt as though the memory of walking over all the surfaces from earlier in the morning had manifested themselves at once. Still, walking was easy enough. It could have been much worse. It always could have been much worse.
Out his room and toward the bathroom he went, but of course the bathroom door was shut. A slight turn and to the kitchen, which, whilst felt like an eternity to walk to, took far less time to reach.
On went one of the taps and the process of cupping water to bring to his mouth commenced for as long as necessary. Of course this too seemed like it took an eternity, but of course it was a much more satisfactory one.
It was a slight refreshment. He thought that perhaps he went a little overboard and it may have been better to sip from a glass rather than try and flood every cell of his body.
He felt a need to sit down. The living room seemed a little too bright and dry, so instead he walked through the laundry, opened the back door and sat on the rear steps. It was a bit better shaded and more ideal, in case he gained the sudden urge to go to the toilet to purge.
It was an old house in which he lived. The toilet was outside, though it was built into the house. The only way to access it was to go out the back and walk a couple of metres to where it sat, right within one of the rear corners of the house itself.
In the morning it could be rather lovely. Often the backyard was overgrown and so, assuming that no one else was awake, he’d sometimes have the toilet door open as the scenery would make it feel like being in the bush rather than suburbia.
It was pleasant when it rained too. It was a safe spot due to how the house’s canopy covered the walkway, though sometimes you’d get wet on the way to the toilet.
He sat there for a while, in the shade, waiting for the warmth of the day to pass, but it would not for a while and he would not sit there the whole day; after all, there still were things that needed to be done, or at least he hoped that there were. Truthfully there were just menial tasks. Food still needed to be put away instead of left sitting in his bedroom. A bit of cleaning. Perhaps the removal and throwing out of stuff no longer being used. Only a few things.
Whilst sitting there for a bit, NAME, his housemate stepped around him and went to the edge of where the grass met the concreted path to the toilet. Leaning against one of the poles whilst staring out, he lit up, took a drag, then turned around and offered to him. For the time being he refused; he didn’t feel like it would be a good idea. Had he been in a different state, he probably would have accepted the offer.
“What’s the time?
It’s close to twelve.
This morning’s going on for far longer than it should.
A lot happens in a short period of time. Surprised you’re awake, to be honest.
So am I.
Why wouldn’t I be?
A myriad of reasons; probably the most pressing being getting dumped.
Well, you’re taking it well. Maybe the hangover is helping.
I’m not hungover. Just really tired.
Is that so?
Yes, and that is what I’m sticking to.”
Truthfully the hangover had kicked in, but it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Maybe it was helping with the despondency of getting dumped, but he didn’t care. What he cared about the most at that point in time was getting through the day and getting off the hangover. It would go, but there was the chance that it would be replaced with far more questions and pain, but that too would eventually pass.
The time it took to write one thousand words: 21:04:33
I feel that this didn’t need as much time as it took. I think I paused a little too much.
I also think I thought too much.
Not enough writing in recent times either.
Not sure as to what I’m looking to express. Perhaps the banality of suburban living. Maybe something more mundane.
Written at home