The morning can be harsh and cruel, wrenching us from warm hands into the light of day. But this morning I go slow, quietly. I hear the groan of the dustbin monster and the shriek of the circling gulls. I sip my green tea, which is at perfect drinking temperature. I cannot stay for long, cannot linger writing. The world is calling, pulling me from this hazy moment into action. I must, I have to, I am obliged to do a million unnecessary wonders. The chores of a lifetime are laid out before me, waiting to catch me with their seemingly soft but steely teeth.
Perhaps I should hide, evacuate from life into the hall cupboard and live amongst the shoe polish, lace doilies and old bottles of swimming shampoo. I see the clock is ticking, I gulp my green tea and I stand, ready for doing.
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