It gets harder to get up every day.
Every bump, every cut, every effort… you look at yourself in the mirror in the morning and realize that it is all starting to pile up. I look at my beat up hands, slashed from a recent job, and look at the person in the mirror. He looks so tired, so sad. Is that me? That can’t be me.
The warmth of the shower makes you feel good, but only for a while. My wife joins me there. It’s not a sexual thing per se, she just likes to have me wash her hair and hold her while the warm water pours over us. Intimacy… Bliss… but you have to get out at some point, and then you feel cold and alone again.
I have a job to do today. I should be happy about this, but I’m not. It’s a bullshit gig and should have never happened in the first place. But hey, it’s 150 bucks and I need the money.
The body is tired, even though it’s slept for 9 hours. Putting on my uniform is tough. I never used to think of it like that, but it is. The heavy jeans, t-shirt, work shirt, safety boots, hat; I realize I wear the same thing every day. Practical, I guess. I carefully load all of my stuff into my various pockets. Ready to go.
It is an effort to get out of the chair. Not physically, but mentally. I don’t want to deal with it today. But I must. There are no holidays for me, just work.