The turkey bones simmer on the stove. The promise of turkey soup tantalizes and awakens my taste-buds. The smells are intoxicating. They are exciting. They evoke gustatory pleasures that almost make me feel guilty! Yet, something within me speaks even more pervasively and convincingly. “Go back to bed, Stacey!” I turn off the stove.
The treadmill sits in the corner of the room. I imagine myself in the middle of a solid workout. I need it after this week-end. The button on my pants is just slightly more difficult to do up. All I have to do is put on my walking shoes and “poof” I have an instant venue for fitness – come rain or shine. It sits staring at me. The buttons expose themselves to me as though I will be drawn in by their illumination. A gentle breeze would blow against my back as I walked to the lessons Chef Michael Smith would offer me during his morning cooking show. Yet, something within me speaks more convincingly. “Go back to bed, Stacey!” I turn away from the treadmill.
My laundry basket is full. I know David’s will be too. The clothes that lay there evoke memories of the week-end’s hiking and walking activities. A spill of cranberry sauce here, a sample of gravy there. The mud on the butt of my pants suggests my slide down that rock face into the Singhamptom Side-Trail gorge was a little more slippery and damp that I had originally thought. The zip-up coat was really not necessarily dirty from the walk in the forest, but the laundry basket was the first place it landed as I raced to watch the Jays’ game with the family. I am not convinced I ought to start laundry right now. Something bigger calls my name. “Stacey, go back to bed!” I look away from the basket.
A sneak peak on my facebook account reveals some nocturnal activity. Someone has been busy responding to my posts about politics. My heart races in anticipation of a good fight. No fight this time – not with this particular cousin. The propaganda cannot be supported or defended – not this time. I search for snippits of what would be solid controversy. Nothing like a good political discussion to awaken the mind. Who has posted what about which politician? Whose spinning a tale today? Yet – again, my eyes feel tired and I am drawn away from my words. “Stacey – back to bed!” I hear once more. I close facebook.
I fight the feeling. I vacuum. I do dishes. I search for the winter mitts and scarves. I find the boots. I found the boots I thought I threw out. I wish I had thrown them out. I throw them into a bag destined for Goodwill. I redirect the bag to the Swap Shop for my school. I fill the paper towel roll. I dust. I put the iron away, clean the office, and tidy the shoes in the front hall so the doors can close. All the while, I am fighting it. “Come upstairs, Stacey. Just carry something up here. Just come upstairs.” I hear. I am weak. I follow the call.
It’s quiet. Good time to write my blog. My eyes become heavier and heavier. “Go back to bed, Stacey!”
“Must be the turkey”, I think. “How can I fight the turkey?” I question. “Maybe just a quick shut eye.” I decide. And that’s that. I type with my eyes shut. I open them to see if I’ve spelled everything correctly. “This is silly.” I conclude as I pull up the covers around my head and give thanks for this golden slumber.