Ego
Broken sleep breaks the morning, and still there is no avoiding my waking up to the panic of the alarm and to the familiar thud of Simon hopping off the bed ready to go outside. This day is loaded and if you could see what I’m really looking at, it would be a checklist held by the taskmaster I call ego, or better yet, my beloved inner critic. You can’t hear him barking his strict instructions. He’s telling me not to sit still or to breathe too deeply, as these will only slow me down. More than anything, he doesn’t want me to make eye contact or close my eyes and witness the other. He knows I might fall asleep, or even worse, stop hearing him altogether.
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