I stand in my kitchen, it’s a little past 8. The sink in front of me is full of dishes that need to be washed from last night. I slowly begin to sort through them, putting them in nice little piles. I prefer to wash them in groups, plates, cups, silverware- they all get a turn in the bubbly bath.

I quickly scan the room for my coffee cup as I hear a van pull up outside. Glancing through the window above the sink, I can see it is the roofers, that are here to replace the ailing roof above my head. I thought I put my coffee cup on the corner of the counter, but it is not there, just empty space. My eyes dart to the top of the aquarium, and still nothing. It often likes to hide out by the icemaker and so I search there.

“Hello?” I ask.

No response, the hiding space next to the icemaker contains nothing. I hear the ladders clang against the side of the house, as the roofers began to setup for the day.

Slowly and methodically, I retrace my steps to the bedroom, searching for my coffee cup. It was a fresh cup of coffee that I had made just minutes before.

“Hello…., where is my coffee cup?” I say, as I walk closer to the bedroom.

As if to respond, my coffee cup materializes on my nightstand, waving at me and encouraging me to retrieve it from it’s lonely pedestal. Quickly, I capture it, pulling it close to me in a loving caress, comforting us both.

Having returned to the kitchen, I continue watching the workers unload their gear. Heavy sheets of plywood, bags full of tools, machines and gadgets of all sorts, all of which would slap my hernia on the ass and convince him to invite over his friends.

I slowly swallow my morning regime of pills as I idlily continue to stare blankly at the men. They continue to unload ladders and buckets, from inside the van, and now out of the back of a truck.

Picking up a plate, I begin the process of giving it a turn in the bubbly bath, scrubbing it until it shines, splashing it with water to remove any soapy residue and place it in the rack. It has a group of friends that are waiting for their turn in the bath, some of them are already soaking.

My feet tingle, it is beginning.

I pick up another plate and give it the ol’ scrubby and a quick rinse, letting him hang out in the dish rack next to his buddy, as my back begins to stiffen. I soldier on, and find another plate at the bottom of the bubbly bath and quickly save him from drowning- giving him a rub-a-dub and a quick shower…..he is allowed to relax in the dish rack as well.

My feet are on fire- it is as if I am standing on broken glass, and every movement sends a sharp pain through my feet and lower legs.

I stare out the window as the men begin to hoist their gear up the ladder and onto the roof. They are looking like they are strolling the park on a Sunday afternoon- I can see the steam from their breath, that they don’t appear to be breathing very hard. I on the other hand am having a hard time and beginning to huff and puff, sweating, looking like I need a hit of oxygen as I have just climbed Everest. I slowly shuffle to the bedroom, leaving the remaining dishes in and around the sink…. The water will be cold by the time I return from my rest. I take the handkerchief from the pocket in my robe and wipe the sweat on my brow, as I enter the bedroom. I slowly disrobe and climb into bed…. Hoping that the pain subsides and that I can recharge enough to finish washing the dishes before it is supper time.