I bat at the clock with my eyes closed, miss it, and nearly tumble out of bed. With a little more vigor, and eyes semi-open, I reach out, silencing it with a loud slap.
It’s too early in the morning—or maybe I was too late to bed. Last night’s writing session stretched into the wee hours as I chased a muse that was as elusive as sleep is now.
Shaking my head, I force myself to sit on the edge of my bed. The darkness of my room seems to lean in close, whispering its doubts about this‘new chapter’of my life.
The borderline excitement from signing up for a personal trainer to help me get back into shape is a distant echo now. Instead, it’s been replaced by the groggy dread of reality.
Yeah, this might very well be a bad idea.
But there’s only one way to find out for sure.
I manage a quick shower—just something to wake me up. The water is nothing more than a cascade of tepid motivation.
When I step out and towel off, I’m no more alert than I was before. Thank goodness for my coffee date with Lily before the madness begins.
Swaddled in a towel, my reflection in the foggy mirror is a bleary-eyed stranger.
If I were writing this day into a novel, the protagonist would be facing her moment of comedic doubt, teetering on the brink of a decision that could change everything—or have her crawling back to bed.
Bed seems the better option. Not gonna lie.
Instead, I go through the motions, hoping I find my motivation hidden in the actions. Or at least at the bottom of areallystrong cup of coffee.
* * *
Clothed in optimism—also known as new workout attire—I find myself outside of my favorite coffee shop‘Bean There, Done That.’
It’s a cozy little establishment I sometimes like to write at and the place Lily and I agreed to meet up at this morning since it’s on the way to the gym. The windows are fogged with the warmth of fresh coffee and early morning chatter.
Taking a deep breath, I hoist the strap of my gym bag higher on my shoulder and make my way to the door.
When I walk in, Dylan, the owner, is offering up small talk to patrons with the ease of someone who’s found their niche in the early hours among the caffeine-deprived zombies of the world.
That wasn’t too bad of a description.
Good job, Carlie.
I mentally pat myself on the back for that one.
“Rough morning?” Dylan asks, his tone light as I walk up to the counter to place my order.
“Something like that,” I reply. I want to tell him that I’m about to meet my maker thanks to a personal trainer named Ada, but my mouth can’t seem to form the words without yawning.
I spy Lily near the window, her posture as straight as her peppiness is unwavering. She’s a morning person, bright and chipper like the first pages of a well-loved book—comforting and familiar.
Her smile beams back at me when our eyes meet and she has thatmind-blowing sex glowabout her. Oh, boy.
My mind instantly goes back to Friday night …
I pause at the memory, an unbidden smile flirting with the corners of my lips. Friday night was ...an adventure.
A story I might write someday, if I dared. But for now, I carry that evening close like a secret.
The feelings it evokes are a jumbled script of sensation and emotion—scenes that played out under cover of darkness, leaving my reality tinged with a dreamlike quality.
If I were to put it into words, they’d be all metaphor and innuendo—shadows dancing just beyond the reach of morning light.
“Carlie? Earth to Carlie—” Lily’s voice snags me from my reverie, pulling me back to the here and now.