That plastic grocery bag in the trash can is the first thing I hear most mornings. It won’t ever stay still.
The red shag rug that’s more lint than rug now is the first thing I feel most mornings. It was like that when I bought it in college.
Water out of one of 400 dixie cups is the first thing I taste most mornings. There’s nothing else to say about that- water is water and we all know what it tastes like.
I don’t smell anymore. That guinea pig on the bedside table that I’m allergic to is making sure of that.
She squeaks all night. But like the garage door opening right under our bedroom when you would leave in early in the morning, I’ve gotten used to it. It became normal.
All the rest should be normal by now, too. But the garage door went up in the middle of the afternoon two years, four months, and twelve days ago and everything that was supposed to be assumed threatened to leave as well.
That guinea pig used to keep me up all night. Now there are a thousand other things to do that for me.