the morning

There’s a message blinking after I come down from the shower. Press play with anxious deliberation and lean. Mister X’s voice dances like a scratch I can’t quite reach along my back. Furious at the idea that he’s tried to contact me again, I hit delete without giving him time to finish. Maybe out of anger, I’ve come down with too much force and the unit with its stupid blinking light – balanced on the edge of the phonebook – crashes down onto the floor in a flurry of wires and exclamations. I stare at the mess I’ve made and decide to leave it until later.