Morning

Here's my recent writers' group homework, where we had to write about "Morning". I sent it off to the local paper but it wasn't used, so rather than let it go to waste, I'm sharing it here.

At primary school I wrote:
The time of day I like best … is just at dawn when I can rest …

At 44, I’ve lost my passion for mornings.

4.30am a paw caresses my cheek. Cat No. 1 cannot find crunchies in his bowl unless you show him. I stir them with a toe then crawl back into bed, not disturbing cat No. 2. I have become better at sleeping like a pretzel.

4.50am the newspaper crashes against the front wall of the house. Didn't hit a window. This time.

5.10am the alarm pips. It is set to lowest volume and not on 'Reveille' so as not to disturb my partner.

Stopping via the study to turn on the computer, I hurry to the kitchen to feed the cats and prepare No. 2’s insulin injection. Instead of buying a barbeque last Christmas, we had our cat diagnosed with diabetes.

Back to the computer and 30 minutes checking emails and downloading newspapers onto Palm.

On the treadmill for half an hour, 2km. I am careful about “hitting the wall”. Most elite athletes are happy to, but if I do it means I have crashed backwards off the machine.

Into the shower. Hopefully there's enough hot water. I have a shower routine. If I vary it, I end up doing most of me again. Sometimes I get interrupted and when I get out, I still have shampoo in my hair. Back I go.

What to wear? Albert Einstein had the right idea – was it Albert Einstein? He wore the same sets of clothes so he didn't waste time deciding. It’s easier to put black with black.

Breakfast. It’s hard not to have the same thing, or to find time to make microwave porridge. If my partner is having toast I want some too. (This is not without some concern, because we then need to make sure the toaster is off.)

How are you going, I ask – which we both know means I am running late as I check wallet, glasses, Palm, pen, bus ticket, back pack ...

Ready to go but first I have to check everything is off, toaster, stove, walking machine, computer - and the alarm is on, and the door snicked and closed properly.

Can you hear me? Toaster’s off, stove’s off. I try to work out systems like only turn the light out when everything in that room has been checked, re-checked, checked again.

The pressure isn’t as great on Wednesday’s when our cleaner comes. We know she’ll turn off things. Her house burnt down a couple of years ago.

I don’t mind going back to check things – as long as there’s enough time. I am so unsure of myself some days … most days. I can do the reporting – this is off, that is off – but when I’m asked if the stove was off, I can't answer with any degree of certainty. Back I go.

It’s worse in winter because then there's the heater to worry about. It’s not on my mental checklist (ditto the fan in summer) and I can forget about it until I am about to set foot on the bus – and then I agonise all the way to the next stop about whether to get off the bus, go home and check.

Our reception windows at work look out over the inner west – so if there’s a fire I will have some advance warning. Yes, that pall of smoke rising near Parramatta Road is because I didn’t turn the kettle or something off properly this morning.

All of this I can bear … what makes it difficult is that my partner of 14 years has caught some of my neuroses. The only thing worse than questioning myself is having both of us doing it.

No, these days the time of day that I like best … is the weekend.