I wake up.
I get ready for work. Shower, teeth, get dressed, the whole works.
My apartment looks like a fucking mess.
It's a miracle if I manage to get any food in me before I get out the door, but that's normal.
Depending on how I'm feeling, a number of things might occur.
I may close all of the doors in my apartment to ensure that the avenues of harm my cat could experience are minimized to the best of my ability.
I may stop by the shrine, an altar to both my obsessions and my compulsions, and I might touch the collar, I may flick the lighter, just once, for good measure.
When I finally do get the courage to leave my apartment, that's when things start to get difficult.
If I am lucky, I will remember to check all of these things before I walk downstairs.
The stove, the oven. Have I cooked recently? Probably not, but I can never trust my memory.
Did I tell her I love her? Did I pet her? She can't understand me,
but if something were to happen, she needs to know it before either of us die.
Did I lock the door? Did I lock the door? Did I lock the door?
More often than not, even if I do remember to check before I leave, I'll conveniently 'forget'.
Maybe I just imagined doing those things.
Maybe I didn't see the lights on the stove and I was mistaken.
Maybe I didn't make saying bye to her the very last thing that I did.
Maybe I didn't turn the door handle right.
If my will is strong, I can choose to trust myself. But my will is not strong.
Sometimes I'll get all the way to my car before my will breaks and I have to run up those two flights of stairs to do everything all over again.
Eventually, once that fucking itch inside me is finally satisfied, then, I can leave. I'm so tired.