Freezing Warm Sunday Morning

Warm Sunday morning. 11:11 on the clock. Been sitting here since nine sharp. Why can’t I get up, I wonder, as if it doesn’t happen enough times for me to know freezing like this is no surprise.

The fatigue of a long past week condensed all at once. I subconsciously try making the feeling of calmness last. And the transition from waking to rising takes its time, it plays by ear, so accordingly I hold back.

It’s the reflection of the sun through the blinds that I can’t stop looking at, displayed on the white ceiling like an art installation, is it not? And the ceiling fan spinning nonstop on the side, I’m hypnotized. So now I’m lying here on my back, staring up. Can’t convince myself that breakfast doesn’t sound too bad. Reason falls flat.

Oh, but how sweet the sound of no one running around, I point out, and another thought creeps in just as fast. How different would this moment be if I birthed children in this lifetime? Oh, how sweet knowing my reality is far from that. No excited tapping on my shoulders screaming, “mommy, get up,” while I stretch my half naked body across my empty queen bed. Again I close my eyes. Let that joyful reminder flood my head.

Do I have to get up? I ask myself one more time. It’s not that I have nothing to do — I have a million notes to write, a home and a messy brain alike to organize, and a calendar full of other tasks.

Sudden unrealistic ideas pop up: I could go to the beach, get an early start to my week, make brunch plans. Wild ideas, mind you, for a body that can find no motion. But perhaps there’s something my body would say yes to. I could stay here a little longer, keep staring at the fan, making sense of life, diving into my Sunday blues and my bittersweet flashbacks.

But now it’s noon. I can’t keep adding to this blog post, I think. I must leave the house, go out in the heat, make more memories to tell about. Just live.

Narrator: On a warm Sunday morning, she chose to remain idle and ignore her tasks.