First sticky on the fridge

Nothing.

Then sound pierces nothingness. I swing my hand out from my cocoon and silence the sound, then I pull my hand back into its shell. I remain on the edge of nothingness until finally willpower forces me out from under the covers. Slipping into some slippers, I pad my way across the floor and open my blinds.

As my feet work in tandem, I make my way through my living space, and I walk into the kitchen. Stopping in front of the fridge I ignore the countless magnets, the dinosaur drawing, even the garfield cat magnet sitting coyly on the top looking down at me.

But my attention does come to rest on a new note, that while still waking up, my mind takes moments to realize is new. Scribbled on the note I find the message

"Ate the last of the pancakes
Take the trash out on your way down"

Heaving a giant sigh at this gross injustice, I reach for a box of cereal, even though its cold goodness is not why I finally drug myself out of bed.

My fridge, once an expression of all things me and my brothers, has now become a crux on how my morning starts, and ultimately life.

Maybe tomorrow life will start off on a better foot, with a side of flapjacks.