Morning is broken

Slowly and dimly become aware that I am no longer asleep.

Wonder what day it is. Can’t remember.

Try, and fail, to remember something that happened yesterday.

Yesterday?

Wonder what the weather forecast was for today.

Decide that it doesn’t matter because it is almost certainly going to rain.

Wonder whether the cat has peed on the kitchen floor again.

Reflect on the possibility that someone else might clear it up.

Dismiss the idea as implausible.

Become aware of mild nagging pain.

Decide that it is the first symptom of terminal illness. Spend some time imagining all bodily functions failing one by one.

Would it be better to stay in bed for the rest of my life (however short)?

Perhaps I am hungry. If only I could remember what day it was I would know what was for breakfast, eggs or not.

Remember some daft line about a flask of wine, a loaf of bread and thou beside me singing in the wilderness. Willing to forego all of that for a cup of tea.

Cautiously extend right leg and flex toes. Usual cannonade of small arms fire as joints crack.

Repeat with left leg.

Surprised there is no reaction.

Turn head carefully (in case it falls off) sideways and see empty pillow.

And suddenly all is well in the world. The sun is shining and the birds are singing fit to burst!

OH is already up, will have cleared up after the cat and will shortly arrive with tray of tea.

(And it turns out to be Wednesday and scrambled eggs for breakfast).