Turnabout
I don’t want to wake up. I’m awake. I don’t want to leave my bed. I’m already in the bathroom, brushing my teeth. And although I know well that I don’t want to leave the house, I’m walking down the street, shaved and in a fresh shirt. I’ve even had breakfast. Something I rarely do. But I did it today, and with such pleasure! The oil was sizzling in the pan before I cracked two eggs—very carefully so as to not damage the yolk membrane—and as the whites hardened, those two balls shone a bright yellow. The butter spread on my bread was yellow with a shiny surface, and the apricot jam was also such a fragrant yellow, that the yellow color in the plates on the table seemed to have a taste of its own, one that it had never had before and would never have again. I put the white paper n
