Naomi stepped out of the shower and quickly wrapped herself in her robe even though she was not completely dry. The large mirror directly across from the shower door was in place whether she chose to give it credence or not and she would rather face it wrapped in bulky terry cloth than stripped, flaws exposed. No matter how hard she tried to place all her focus on her face, which was attractive, even pretty, with a small nose and even-toned skin carrying few wrinkles, the extra weight around her middle and backside always grabbed the attention. As she towel dried her hair she glanced over at the corner of the bathroom, eyeing the floor scales. She knew she would eventually drag herself to their shifty steps no matter how many memorized positive reinforcements she repeated to herself or how convincing the inner voice sounded. She diligently fought the urge but it was more for the salve of continuity than for any real chance it would succeed.
As she applied her eyeliner and mascara, the red lines crowding her eyeballs were a snarled reminder of her weekend. Too much alcohol, not enough food and practically zero hours of sleep. According to all senses of propriety and reason she should have grown beyond that behavior but she wasn’t even to the point of desiring to slow down, much less nearing the place of taking a vow or pledge. Of course, difficult mornings like this had a way of releasing some of those thoughts for a quick lap around her mind. She usually began her emotional and mental attack on Mondays in the waning hours of Sunday but last night was a particular blur, starting with friends and drinks at O’Callahan’s downtown and ending someplace bright and loud where the name of the establishment was less important than its closing time. Along with the dull throb at her temples, the previous nights activities gave her a late start on her Monday prep. She had a staff meeting at 9:30 and was free until two when she was scheduled to meet with the project team to discuss the upcoming weeks milestones. And she was supposed to go to her mom’s for dinner. “Ah yes, the weekly grilling,” she confided to her reflection as she brushed out her hair. And she wasn’t referring to chicken or hot dogs.
All words and images ©2005/J. Colle
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment