I wake up with Harry the cat walking over my face. Fuck, is my first thought. It’s Saturday.
Saturdays have become the most difficult day since you’ve gone. Saturdays mean at least forty hours must pass before I can go to work and have something positive to distract my mind from my impenetrable sadness. I count the days in my head – you died 13 weeks ago today.
I push Harry off the bed and turn onto my side. I pull the duvet around my neck and scrunch up my eyes, trying to block out the daylight from the window. If I can just go back to sleep, even for a little while, at least I won’t have to face being alone with my thoughts. I try hard to think of nice things and drift off back to sleep. Of course, it is to no avail. Apart from the fact that my toes are poking out from the bottom of the bed and are in danger of being shred to ribbons by a predatory Harry: I need a piss.
With a heavy sigh I sit up. Carefully keeping the duvet around my neck to ward off the impending chill, I hunt around the bed for the remote control and turn on the TV. I’m amazed at how reliant on the TV I have become. It’s now on more often than off – the inane chatter of random game shows preferable to the otherwise morbid silence.
When Harry’s cute but fucking annoying meowing finally becomes too much to bear, I haul out of bed. Pulling on yesterdays t-shirt and joggers from the floor I walk through to the kitchen. Harry weaves in and out of my legs nearly causing a catastrophe more than once. I look in his dish – little bastard still has half a meal left from last night. There was no need for him to wake me up at all.
Poor wee thing. He’s been finding it hard too. Since you died. He just doesn’t like being alone. I top up his food and water bowls and he tucks in appreciatively. I give him a pat and head to the bathroom.
As I move my hands in and out of the water coming from the tap I examine my face in the mirror before me. Just look at the fucking state of me. In my late thirties I’m not exactly in the prime of my life but still…really? Jesus. I’d like to think I’ll look my best again one day but I’m not sure I ever will. My hair is greying, my face is blotchy and bloated and my eyes are like piss holes in the snow. Thankfully my clothes hide the worst of the hideously overweight, stretch marked, cellulite ridden body that I know fine well I live in. To have to look at that this morning would really push me over the edge.
I go back to the bedroom and jump back into bed. As I get comfortable Harry comes to join me, settling on top of the duvet for cuddles. At least I still have this little bugger I think. Without him I would truly have no one. I know it’s sad to view your pets as humans – but I’m taking all the friends I can get right now. I need them since you died. I reach for my other friend – my vape – and I am momentarily soothed as the nicotine rushes through my blood stream.
I consider getting up, getting dressed and going in to town to buy some shit I neither want or can afford. It’s how I’ve tried to fill the gap since you died. It hasn’t worked the last two Saturday’s though, so there’s no point trying again today. I set the TV to put itself to sleep in half an hour and settle back down again. I pull the duvet around my neck and close my eyes – Harry still purring away beside me.
The days news is burbling away in the background. Some cold and unfeeling male voice is revealing that, apparently, the country is only a week away from World War Three. Definitely best not to go out today then. I drift off into a restless sleep.
I wake up with Harry the cat walking over my face. Fuck, is my first thought. It’s still Saturday…