|medium boiled egg on white toast with arugula tossed in avocado oil|
Maybe it's because you left the pep in your step on the nightstand or that you can't recover from that
You'll wash all over, just the way your mother taught you so many years ago. Ten minutes later, you'll stare in the mirror with black smudges beneath your eyelids. That expensive mascara just won't come off, no matter how hard you scrub. You'll turn on Morning Joe in the background and deeper in the background Rihanna will be playing. You'll moisturize, throw on a pair of jeans and t-shirt you won't leave the house with, and put two eggs to boil on the stove. You'll do this strange thing called ironing to smooth out the creases that will be back in your clothes once you sit down at your desk.
The eggs will be hard to peel, but you'll be smashing them. You'll sit at the kitchen table. You will eat. It will be silent. You won't miss anyone. You won't need anything. You won't check your emails, facebook, twitter, instagram, tumblr, etc. There will be no guilt. There will be no rush. There will be no shoulda, coulda, woulda's.
You maybe slower than you were before, but you will be as you are; as you were meant to be: slow.