When you’re healthy and happy it’s a hopeful moment, filled with the new day’s promise. But, it is also the moment at which the darkest fears emerge and the coming day weighs like an anvil on a drowning man.
This morning I woke at 5 am in a sweat. Of course, I went to bed in a sweat and rolled all night in sweaty sheets. No, I was not trysting with a belle, nor was I in the throes of Andropause. It was just 40 degrees Celsius in my room.
When I awoke wet and exhausted, the dark shine of the sky sucked what was left of my energy. What’s the point of even getting up, said my miserable brain. Flashbacks of failures, disappointments, humiliations, sad love stories inundated me.
Luckily, my member was erect, courtesy of my full bladder. It gave me a vaguely pleasurable thing to rub and a reason to get up.
So, here I stand at 5 am, aiming at the toilet, waiting for the mictural muscle to relax enough to hose down the porcelain. The cat stares at me, looking pleased that her breakfast is so early. Finally it flows.
As I empty my bladder, the anxiety leaves my body.
Years of therapy and decades of theories to realize that perhaps I just needed to let go?
Is Dr. Phil in the house? I’ve got a new theory of human behavior. The “Let the Piss Go!” theory of happiness.
Dawn is almost in my window, The cat argues because I left the room without feeding it. I remind the fat cat that it’s Noah’s job. As I put the moka coffee pot on the stove, I hear Noah rush to the bathroom, followed instantly by the noise of him peeing. He certainly has no trouble letting go. The cat rushes to the bathroom, meowing. I hear the food being poured in his dish.
Noah stumbles into the kitchen. His hair is matted and knotted by the sweat of the night.
“Hey dad.” He raises a tired hand. His eyes are puffy with sleep.
“Sorry, Noah, did I wake you?”
“It’s okay dad, I needed to pee.” He manages a tired smile. When this kid smiles, the sun comes up more quickly.
“Not yet dad.” He motions to me with a ‘come hither’ hand motion. I follow, dutifully. He throws himself on the futon in the living room and stretches out to the fullness of his 137 centimeters.
I sit on the end. He sticks his hot, vaguely aromatic rabbit’s feet against my leg. Kneads me with his toes.
The sun is finally up and filtering green and yellow highlights in the window. Hot and beautiful weather.
Noah flips around and throws himself onto my lap. He curls up into the smallest ball he can manage and settles onto my legs. Fifty-five pounds of sweaty boy, arms and legs and butt spilling out from lap. The cat jumps up and tries tentatively to join him. I flick her ear.
‘No room, fat cat.” It’s not really an insult because she really is fat.
Noah’s snickers belie his words. He pushes his body a little further into mine. Damn, this is really uncomfortable, especially since it’s so hot. The cat finally finds a solution by letting herself fall sideways against my waist. Now, not only am I sweating through my old sweat but there’s cat fur and boy hair sticking to it.
I could not be less comfortable. I could not be happier. And it’s only 5:23 a.m.