I wake for the last time and I don’t know how it will be different but I have to cope. Gripping the mattress I push myself up. I don’t feel groggy, not as I usually do on a workday morning. I don’t need to stretch and yawn.
In the bathroom I splash my face. I feel the water but it isn’t necessary. I can taste the minty toothpaste but it isn’t in any way beneficial. Stalled in front of the mirror, I have no need to shave so I brush my hair. I mess it and brush it, again and again.
In the kitchen I think about food. I’m not hungry but I reach for the jar of raspberry jam. I stick in my finger to taste and there it is; that familiar tang both sweet and tart. But it is only a memory, no more than that and even if I continue to indulge I will forget.
I make myself a coffee, four heaped spoonfuls with no milk or sugar. It isn’t how I take it but I just want to smell it and, standing at the counter, I lean over the mug and inhale.
I move to the stove and turn on the dial. I place my hand on top of the ring and I press down waiting for the heat. And there it is.