there is nothing left but a fog where there used to be perceptions, distantly the son's alarm clock is beeping, there is no clarity about what the noise is. There is dazzling soft light, and the bed is warm. Try to account for the steady beeping with some explanatory dream. Hear the wife's voice, high in anger, telling the son to shut down the noisy clock.
That is it, awake now. All the soft and fuzzy things around about coalesce to their usual shapes, the small table beside the bed, the window, the bureau, the view of the glazed-over balcony outside the window. All is there now. The alarm has stopped.
Get out of the bed, levering the heavy body up into a sitting position, then going out to the bathroom. Last night had been really cold, remember the forecast from yesterday, temperatures of minus ten in the night. The tiles are icy underfoot, flush the toilet in this minimally heated bathroom and brush the teeth.
Return to the bedroom, pick up the laptop computer, and go to the sitting room. There is the son, he wishes a good morning. He is eating a bowl of German müsli, oats and fruit in milk. That is healthy, at least. Wish him a good morning too, make coffee.
Staying up late last night to watch a film was a waste of time, and the film was no better. A dreary account of space rescue, a sort of space opera.
Stupid, but so be it.
A late night.
A waste of time.
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