wake up! it's 3:24am!

even while dreaming, my brain keeps me on track for a pilates class

After a long Sunday night’s sleep, I gently open my eyes to the morning alarm. Well, I don’t actually hear it, but I never do. Nico instantly turns it off with 2 other alarms set as a safety net. For a delicate 15 minutes most weekday mornings we’re settled in-between awake and dreaming. Our minds too mushy to consider the day to come. All that’s real is the warmth beneath the duvet and prickly cold of the outside.

Only, he doesn’t stir to wake me up as usual. No other alarms blaring. What gives? He knows I have a 7:30am hot pilates class.

I start to worry. I’m going to miss this $40 class if I don’t get up. Surely its already 6:30am if the alarm went off that long ago. I lay gazing at the outline of his bookcase in the darkness. Then I flip over.

“Nico, is it 6:30 yet?”

He rolls over with a sweet, groggy whisper “what?”, then falls right back into his pillow. As if he was never really awake at all.

There’s only one thing left to do: sacrifice my comfort to the nippy air. I tip toe to the bathroom to retrieve my phone and figure out how much time I have to shimmy into my black unitard. An outfit that makes me feel like I would love L.A.

3:24am blinks in my face. There was never an alarm. Did I dream it? I climb right back into bed both confused and grateful for the (perceived) gift of extra sleep.

3 hours later, as intended, we wake up at 6:15am with plenty of time for me to fly southbound on the subway to pilates.

Regardless of my subconscious mind chanting don’t be late don’t be late don’t be late in my dreams and waking me up just to confirm I was listening, the class is not my destiny. After a random delay, I hop off the sardine can streetcar to find I’m 2 minutes late. Jaybird, the studio I frequent when craving a certain intensity and spa-like inwardness, has a strict policy of nobody entering once class is in session.

So I enjoy the purple pink sky and take the long way home with Olivia Dean. It’s funny how out of our control things are despite our brain’s best efforts to keep us on track. “On track” meaning the “right” amount of anxious.

The nerve. To think, on a Friday morning, before the day has stepped to the starting line. I haven’t even mumbled the word coffee yet.

It looks like the clouds are yawning, in between awake and dreaming. Takes one to know one.

the sky in question

and pivot

Thank you for being here! The dichotomy of that morning makes me laugh.

I was 2 different people. High-strung from waking up at 3:24am and willing a streetcar to move faster, to bopping down the street enjoying an album end-to-end with cotton candy floating above me. A reminder that even if I cross my fingers and run for the bus, sometimes I still won’t make the bus.

Either way, I’ll never stop whispering under my breath “C’MON WORLD give me this one!” and running for it. It’s just nice to know that it’s okay if it doesn’t work out how I plan.

See you next time xx Cat