On mornings when he hadn’t slept well the night before or simply wanted to sleep through to lunch, give him a chance to catch up on some much-needed rest, she would move through the rest of the morning’s routine careful not to disrupt him. She was empathetic, knowing that neither of them slept well anymore. It had been a long time since they had slept deeply side-by-side instead of tossing and turning, trying to avoid one another without being too obvious.
It didn’t help that neither of them was a morning person. She grumbled until the first cup of coffee was being refilled with a second. He simply listless and silent the first hour or two. Even on mornings when they both were preparing for work or some other prerequisite, they shifted around one another without a word, like professional divers barely rippling the surface of their morning.
Not to create too much disturbance in the day was easy, lack of sleep adding a dullness to everything. It was easy to avoid questions, demands, expectations until night. The rituals that preceded going to bed were especially contrasted with memories. They had never been likely to bounce out of bed to eagerly face the sun or whatever it was those perky morning people wanted to see but there was a time when getting ready for bed was something so different from taking choreographed turns in the bathroom, putting things back into precise places.
So there you go. less than 250 words from page one of an unfinished short story. There's no telling what I'll throw out there next week. A bit of an essay or a poem or a memoir piece or perhaps a character sketch for a novel idea I have simmering. There's really no telling. I just hope that by doing this, sharing even a smidgen of what I've written, I'll be held accountable to write more throughout the week.