Friday's Child

Feeling crochety and grumpy on a Friday morning because I am awake. The telephone rang at 6:45 a.m. and Fridays I do my best to sleep until at least 2:00 p.m. otherwise I fade, losing energy in the far reaches of the night, at 3:00 a.m. tomorrow morning when my audience expects me to be happy happy joy joy full of energy and conversation to while away the hours of their darkness.

Usually I remember to turn off the bell, avoiding other peoples' lack of thought. Just because you are awake does not mean the world is there with you! Except by prearrangement I never call before eight in the morning, and usually wait until later still. Mornings are full of rush and bustle, making breakfast, getting children off to school, walking dogs and feeding cats, all manner of occupation in the pre-work preparation for the day.

So here I sit, awake and yawning after just three hours sleep and no guarantee that my light-filled eyes will close or even drowse again because somewhere in me is the little engine that says it is day. We must be up and at 'em. Things to do! You are awake! Run errands, wash the floor, the car, the clothes. At least take out the garbage and then make pancakes rich with eggs and milk to drown in golden syrup touched with just a splash of lime.

So easy to lose control of all the senses when the rhythm carefully created over the last five months is interrupted by the thoughtless belling of a phone. I think I was polite - I usually am by training which stands me in good stead when all my reactions are on automatic - when I said call me later, I am still abed. But manners did not help me still the racing heartbeat fuelled by adrenaline that pumped in answer to the ringing tone that split the air.

Oh well, I played with Furball who's ecstatically still here; grown some, but not enough to suit the shelter. This week I'll take him for his shots and have him wormed and all those things I'd do if he was mine to cherish and to house forever. He tries to eat my toes and fingers while I fill his plate and bounces all around, presenting sideways to look big and tough. Such a little ball of fluff to have such impact on a heart.

Maybe melted cheese on toast would be good for breakfast. Or steak and eggs - oh gods I have not had red meat in six weeks and miss it more than ever I missed a lover for all that I love eating seafood. In truth, all the care I have taken with my diet over the last six weeks, all the supplements I have taken, all the water, all the rest I have have filled my life with, all the bread and yeast I have not eaten and I feel no different.

No less weary, not an ounce lighter in spirit or in weight. Indeed the only change I notice is my joints ache more, my fingers cramping on the keyboard, knees popping very loudly if I bend to rescue something from the resident whirlwind as it passes.

Think I'll go back to my usual patterns as a major change has made no difference that helps. And now I shall find work to move the whole body through space and exercise the muscles hoping for a tip from tired to exhausted and from there to sleep until it is time to start my day, tonight.