She stretched her arm into the cold air in the room and picked up the phone. A light too strong showed the time; 7:53. A strong annoyance shook her guts: "Finally I can sleep longer, but this curse of a brain won't let me" - Is that bad self-talk? The arm went back under the warm & cosy blanket, a self-hug with more intrusive thoughts, more to-dos, more random images, questions and problems.
"Cállate, cállate, cállate", she repeated to herself for a while until she held the phone once more and played a good old guided meditation. 45 minutes of a man telling her what to do, as if we didn't have enough of that already, what an awful thing to do. Lucky for her, she did the exact opposite of what he said: She fell asleep.
In this strange dreamy state of half-wakefulness, a vivid memory arose:
Winter back in that three-story home, the cold wind blowing through the windows and the smell of paraffin on the stove. A feeling of melancholy mixed with loneliness, all the lights were off as she waited for her mother on the first floor like there was no life until she arrived. The same faint light was coming through, only at 6pm, a normal winter time for darkness.
Winter back in that three-story home, the cold wind blowing through the windows and the smell of paraffin on the stove. A feeling of melancholy mixed with loneliness, all the lights were off as she waited for her mother on the first floor like there was no life until she arrived. The same faint light was coming through, only at 6pm, a normal winter time for darkness.
A second memory came, for that feeling of void got in too deep, she had to bring warmth into her soul again, it's no good having such feelings so early in the morning, especially on mornings when you wish you didn't exist:
The smell of toast, lights on and hot chocolate for dinner, her mother's warmth was there, the mustard and red coloured furniture, all matching with curtains closed and the burgundy tiles of the kitchen floor.