MEEP. MEEP. MEEP. I wake up, roll over, and slap my arm down on the alarm clock, clicking the button to turn off the beeping. It's probably the quickest move I'll make for the next hours. That sound, I just have to get it turned off, immediately. I have a few minutes, due to strategically setting the alarm clock earlier than necessary. So I dawdle down the hall way, and thump, thump, thud down the stairs. Shuffle, slide, shuffle. My feet drag slowly through the living room. I can already see a warm, bright, flickering red-orange light. That's my favorite sight on a cold morning. The house is dark, but the fire has been stoked so it's warm and blazing when I make my way downstairs to start breakfast. Then there's several minutes of blissful nothing. Just sitting in front of the fire, looking at the flickers across the wood floor, waking up slowly.
The clock ticks to 6:00, and it's time to start breakfast. I love the early morning, in the quiet house, all by myself in the kitchen. I put in my earphones and start a book. It might be something I haven't ever read or listened to. But more often, it's one of the stories I've had on my MP3 player for years, so familiar I can quote almost every line. Even if I never loved the book, I've listened to it so many times by now, it's like family. Put away the dishes. Makes a cup of hot chocolate. Get a skillet heating on the stove. Set the table. Cut the banana bread. 6:40, everyone's dressed, and it's starting to get noisy. After the twentieth time I have to say, "What?" when someone asks me a question, I pause my book and pull out the earphones. That action is my resignation the day actually has to start. No more quietness. Get dressed, pick up, chores, school. The story of my morning.
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