We had relatives staying at our house this year. When I woke up, the room was blue, because my new curtains were tinting the light. It was nice. I smiled, and stretched, and in a series of awkward gymnastic motions, removed myself from the bed.

I stood before the sink and put my contact lenses in. The drowsy shuffle down the hallway is dreamlike when you’re half blind, just shapes and fuzzy shadows, carpet scraping sounds. Once the plastic was attached to my eyeballs the day actually began. Things had textures, and corners. Next, I took a long shower, emerged from the steam, dressed, and walked upstairs.

“Hey, sunshine! I thought you’d never wake up.”
My mad uncle Roscoe was pivoting on the recliner, looking out the big plate glass window above the bay. He had made coffee his way.

“What are you talking about? I’ve been up for a while.”
“Well, I didn’t see you, and I’ve been up for half an hour,” he said.
“I was taking a shower. I’ve been up longer than you, I bet.”
He grimaced.
“I mean I’ve been in here for a half an hour. I think I got up about ten or twenty minutes before you did.”
“Sorry,” I said shrugging, “I didn’t know we were competing.”
“Hmm.”
“If I had, I would have won.”
“Seriously doubt it.”

The next night, we both set our alarm clocks an hour earlier. In the middle of the night, I woke up and set mine back another fifteen minutes.