Two wine glasses. An empty bottle. Clothes all over the floor. A sock missing. I drink what’s left of an open bottle of San Pellegrino, as I limp through my morning preparations. This is a day of a younger me.
The calls and tasks begin coming in at 8 am. A normal day, but a normal day is unremitting.
“Hey, what’s going on?” I ask, as I answer the phone.
“What?” she calls from the bedroom.
“Did you get the email I forwarded?” a voice on the other end of the line answers.
“I skimmed it,” I respond. I have no idea what he’s talking about.
“They’re pushing the launch until late 2016,” the voice tells me.
“What did you say?” she asks, bursting out of the bathroom, trying to fasten her bra as she walks.
“Hold on a sec…” I say, to the voice. I turn to her, “Nothing. Sorry, work call, didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Oh, you didn’t wake me.”
“Do you want breakfast or anything? Or a shower?”
“Some breakfast would be good,” she says.
“Help yourself to anything in the kitchen. I’m just going to take this real quick…” I walk downstairs where it’s eerily silent, where I can concentrate.
“Sorry about that. Ok, here’s what we need to respond back with…”