I walk into my bedroom feeling heavier with each step. My slippers make a swishing sound as they scrap against the carpet, I’d pick my feet up to stop the noise, but I just can’t be bothered. All I want is to peel off my clothes, slip into a set of warm flannelette pj’s and crawl under the blankets. My shoulders hunch forward causing my back to curve, like I have a small hump. I keep blinking my eyes, struggling to keep them open, to concentrate on the room and those last few tasks that will allow me to finally lay down. I yawn loudly, letting the air push down deeply into my lungs as my hands reach up to rub my face. My lips feel dry, I should put something on them but it’s just one too many extra things right now. I cast a longing look at the book on my nightstand, last night I reached a really exciting moment and I’ve been looking forward to falling back into the story all day, but it’s just not going to happen, maybe I can steel a few moments to indulge myself in it tomorrow I think, before my head hits the pillow, sinking into the soft yielding surface.
I rush through the kitchen door, knowing that I’m using a great deal of energy throwing my body around like this, but I’ve got a million things to do today and zero time to worry about energy loss. This day is already going to soar past my daily balance, but such is life, I’ll deal with the residual crash tomorrow, and probably for at least a week afterwards, but at least I’ll get masses of things sorted today. I whip round the kitchen, snatching up breakfast dishes and tossing them into the sink as I throw open the cupboard while simultaneously trying to put in the plug and turn on the tap. I feel fantastic today, full of life, abundant with energy and inspired to get it all done while I can. I smile as I thrust my hands into the too hot water, splashing myself with the suds as another plate drops into the sink.
I push open the heavy door with my right hand, the fingers of my left clutch the strap of my handbag, crushing the soft leather. I look up, plastering the friendliest smile I can find towards the receptionist. It’s always important to be nice to the receptionist, they have more power then people think, I know, because I was one once.
My stomach is in knots, and my throat feels a little dry. I really wish I’d gone to bathroom before leaving the house, but I was so worried I’d misjudge the traffic and be late that I’d held on. I stop myself from licking my lips and wearing away the fresh coat of lipstick I’d put on before heading inside. The gloss feels heavy, like wall paint, it’s been a long time since I wore makeup, stay-at-home-mum’s don’t wear it much.
I announce myself then take the offered seat, waiting for the HR rep to come and find me. I realise that I’m flicking my freshly manicured nails, they make a rather loud clacking sound, I stick them under my thighs and hope the receptionist didn’t notice, forcing myself to calm down and breath. I’ve already got the job, there’s no need to be nervous, it’s going to be fine.
Years of being a social outcast rise up to taunt me and I worry that I’m not going to fit in here, that everyone will be younger then me, we’ll have nothing in common and then I laugh at myself. I clearly remember sitting in a similar office, many many years ago thinking something very similar, only I was worrying I’d be too young. For some reason the memory soothes me and I thrust my right leg jauntily out, crossing it over my left and leaning back comfortably in the sofa.