Morning. Too early. It doesn’t matter what time it is, it is always too early. Lying in bed, I do a quick overall checkup to see what hurts. If any part of me doesn’t hurt, will it start to hurt when I move? Can I move? Can I stand?
Various parts of me wake up at different times. The brain more or less engages first, cranking at half-speed. Getting up to speed involves caffeine. Meanwhile, I get ready for “the big push,” also known as “getting up.”
Eventually, I do it. Sometimes, I delay awhile by flipping open the Kindle and checking my email. I hope there’ll be a note from my doctor ordering me to stay in bed. Sadly, there’s no official memo, so I pivot into legs-off-the-bed position and ponder. This particular morning, Garry has an appointment at noon which means we actually have to get up. Because Bonnie also has an ear infection that needs tending and I need another pair of hands to get it done … and I am not going anywhere without coffee.
Arising is a slow-motion event. Like watching a tree sloth making his or her way through the low hanging branches of the rain forest. These days, I do most everything slowly. All our friends move equally slowly. Oddly, we still talk fast. Type fast. Laugh frequently, though right now (and I’m referring to Real Politics, not our personal lives), life isn’t quite as funny as it was.
No more warp drive. If I can get there, it’s good. Getting there slowly is still getting there. The end not only justifies the means, it’s the part of the voyage that matters.