Morning

Posted: October 20, 2011 in Fiction, Test Subject

I bolt awake. I fell asleep with the light on again. I sigh. What time is it? I dig my phone out of my pocket. I fell asleep in my clothes again too. Jesus, I’m a mess. It’s almost noon. What time was that medical testing gig? I roll off of my bed and stand. After some digging, I pull the paper out of my back pocket. I smooth it out. I need a better filing system. I also need an alarm clock. The thing starts at one. I bounce unsteadily to my feet. I stretch, and black spots swim before my eyes. I sway, and almost fall backward again.

I dip into the bathroom to try to brush the litterbox taste out of my mouth. I don’t actually know what cat litter tastes like, but morning breath reminds me of the smell. As I’m brushing, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Dark swipes under each eye tell a story about me being hit in the face. Damn crook. Not enough that he has to break in. Now I get to walk around looking like a raccoon for a week. Maybe while I’m getting my physical, I can have the doc look at my nose. I spit out the tooth paste and rinse my brush, then head to my “closet.”

As I’m picking out the least dirty pair of jeans and a maroon t-shirt that doesn’t reek, I fume about my door. I know I don’t have anything worth stealing, but I’m not thrilled about the idea of leaving my place wide open all day. I don’t have the money to fix it myself, and the property manager is a real shit when it comes to maintenance. I strip off last night’s clothes and put on last week’s. Probably time to do laundry. Later. I transfer the contents of my pockets into my new pants and then lift my mattress. Once, we blocked the door of an old friend of mine by propping the couch up on the open door, then closing the door so that the couch fell flush against the door. My mattress isn’t as heavy, but it’s better than nothing. I open my door, prop the mattress up on it, then pull it closed from the hallway. I hear the clink of it hitting the doorknob, then the thunk of it coming to rest on the floor. I push my door. It hits the mattress right away. Good enough for now, if a bit irritating later.

I thunder up the stairway. It isn’t so much that my footfalls are heavy, although I’m not much good at being quiet. It’s that the stairs may as well be drum-heads for all that they dampen the sounds of impact. I breathe in the comparatively fresh air as I emerge into the courtyard and saunter toward the street. My stomach gurgles. I ignore it. No time for breakfast. I check the address and start jogging. I should just make it.

I’m thinking I need to make a separate page for the personal stuff. I want everyone to read all the things, but realistically, most people aren’t going to care about one aspect or the other. I haven’t decided exactly what to do about that just yet, but I’ll work something out. For now, I hope that this prologue-thing that I’m doing for Asher isn’t too off-putting.

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