Every morning is the same. Out of bed and into the kitchen with my dog close by, her sleepy ears down, nails tap-tapping on the wood floors and curious looks thrown my way. She still remembers my ambitious years, when I’d sleep in my running clothes and head straight outdoors from bed.
I put the kettle on, sit on the stool, scratch her ears and apologize. The little yellow kettle sounds, I make coffee and we go back to the bed.
I drink my cup propped by pillows, the dog warming my feet. I close my eyes and think before the rest of the house wakes up.
Sometimes I can’t wait to go to bed just so I can get up and do it again.