I had to get out of bed quickly today. It was one of those mornings when the strongest calling I felt was the calling to go to the toilet. Urgency was high, but not dramatic. So I got up, took my pills, went into the bathroom, washed my jug, and used the toilet. Nothing bad happened, other than a couple of stains on my bed sheet. It's okay, they sheets needed changing anyway.
The whole point of this is that I got up quickly. I used to do that all the time, jump up out of bed and launch myself into my day. Now I need time, time to build up my energy, time to gain focus on my muscles, time to adjust and move. Jumping out of bed is something Katherine does; for me, it's more like climbing up out of a pit. My M-rail is my ladder. My arms lift my bulk upwards. My legs are weights holding me down. I did this quickly today; that is sarcasm. I did this without build up time today.
The impact of this "sudden" getting up is that I remain sleepy even though I slept for more than 10 hours last night. I am yawning, rubbing my eyes, holding out against drooping eyelids, even though I've been up for a couple of hours now, or perhaps because of it. I have not yet fully awakened, even though I am going through the motions of wakefulness. I'm stumbling, metaphorically, through my day's start. I won't say morning; it's long past that.
I've managed to make myself a second cup of coffee; Katherine made the first one for me. I've had some water to drink, hydrating a tired and worn set of eyes. I've eaten some breakfast, although the energy has yet to enliven my system. What I really feel like doing is going back to bed for a "do over", resting perhaps for another hour or two, or three, then doing the whole getting up routine again, only this time more slowly.
Nothing is easy; nothing is fast. Even I have to remember that. When I push too hard, I inevitably pay the price.
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