Last Friday I felt nauseous, with erratic sleep leaving me feeling blah, and my temperature hovering between ‘maybe I have something’ and ‘maybe I am perimenopausal’. I called in sick, slept a bit more, then made oatmeal to eat while watching The Walking Dead. In fact, Oatmeal seemed my speed as my stomach didn’t feel like real food.
Saturday, after feeling a bit better, I found myself on my friend’s lounge chair, looking up at the trees with their gold, red, and yellow hues. The wind died down, and I closed my eyes to feel the breeze envelopment me in a warm embrace. I started to imagine the warm embrace attached to someone very familiar, perhaps a fan of cuddling under a canopy of gently rustling trees:
Fast forward to Monday. Specifically replace the fantasy with a dream about a party where Jeremy Renner brought brownies, and I debate whether to make a cheeky comment about watching his figure as I eat a piece. (Seriously, I had my internal dialogue about whether it’s alright to make the cheeky comment, and if I will not seem creepy after saying it . After all, it’s all in good fun. All this despite having the nagging feeling something felt ‘off’.)
The scene dissolves to my bedroom looking strangely lit. Winnipeg in the fall means the nights get longer, and my alarm goes off in a dark room awaiting the dawn. In this case the alarm did not go off. The three clicks I heard did not turn on my alarm.
I actually turned it off.
My clock’s soft glow said 7:42 and I have start work at 8.
I stumbled around my place, taking a shower, and trying desperately to hustle out the door. Meanwhile the Catholic guilt machine kicks into overdrive, despite assurances from my co-worker he will ‘see me when he sees me’. I hate being late. I come from a family with a mother taking us to church 40 minutes before mass starts, and I inherited that punctuality. Monday made even this Tuesday feel a little off despite arriving on time. A friend of mine said, “Congratulations! You’re human” after I told her about my manic Monday.
I smiled sheepishly on the phone. Unsure why I feel unsettled, yet determined to greet the next day like a fresh page, and write a new story.