Morning to her was a process that took time and a self-forcefulness that sometimes just wasn’t there.She would awake slowly eyelids peeled apart and rubbing the sleep out of her grey-blue eyes and she’d look around her at the calm arctic blue walls. Then she would look at the pictograph of Emma and the young women right in the middle of the large picture frame. She would vaguely realize she knew where she was and that she was snug beneath a warm black duvet with little white flowers and crisp white sheets.
She would begin her visual journey around the room taking in every detail wrinkling her nose and wishing she had a tooth-brush right then and there. Then as gossamers of light began to make their way through the white roman shade she would yawn and cover her eyes with the back of her hand and become aware of the rings on her right hand. Three of them were from a set that she wore another three on her left hand and the forth was a ring engraved with black silver hearts that she had received from her mother when she was sixteen and her parents had gone off to Banff for a week.
Removing her hand from her eyes she would wiggle her toes and push unenthusiastically at the covers before turning over and surrounding herself with them so she was snug and protected.Nothing could hurt her in here. But soon she would find her mind wandering down long highway, amongst valleys of information, and activities she wanted to do that day. She thought of Downton Abbey half watched on her Ipad and of the books she had been saving up to read in spring. There were several new one’s she wanted to read and several old books she wanted to reread.
Throwing the covers off her now cold and chilly body she would touch her toes to the carpet, always surprisingly soft and become aware of her state of ugliness in the mirror. Mascara was smeared under her eyes, her face bare with moisturizer that had not quite sunken all the way into the skin, her lips slightly cracked, and her long blond hair a matted mess of possibility, if only she had bothered to dry it last night. Ignoring the picture before her she pads into the kitchen where a bowl of fruit is waiting and cereal is crunched slowly in ones mouth as it scratches the top of her mouth and leaves it sore.
Word Count: 429
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