suburban sunrise

I wake up, if I was ever actually sleeping. It is pitch-black. I roll over look at the red numbers illuminated on my desk, they are blurry. I lean out of bed to get closer, careful to remain completely covered by my comforter. I wait for a moment in the dark as my unaided eyes adjust. The numbers clearer now read 2:33. Has it only been four minutes since I last checked? My clock must be slow, I get out of bed, walk through my silent house, everyone else is soundly sleeping. I check the clock in the living room, 2:33. I walk into the dining room and check the clock, 2:34. Defeated by time, I move into the kitchen to get a glass of water as I fill it up I realize there are dirty dishes in the sink. I glance at the clock again, 2:34. I decide I might as well do the dishes. I begin to fill up the sink with soapy hot water, as it fills I glance at the clock again, 2:34. I begin to do the dishes, when I realize the light is off, I walk over to turn it on. My light switch is located at the top of the stairs to my basement, as I am turning it on, I glance down the stairs and notice a light in the basement. I determine this to be a wasteful use of electricity and venture into the basement to turn it off. When I reach the basement floor, I glance at a clock 2:38. I turn the light off and as I head back to the stairs I notice my telescope in the corner covered in dust. I glance again to the clock, 2:38. I grab the telescope and head back up the stairs. I set it at the top of the stairs and return to the dishes, I glance into the family room at the plants. I finish the dishes and go into the family room, the plants are dry. I glance at the clock on the computer, 2:40. I water the plants. I return to the kitchen and grab a newly cleaned glass, for my interrupted drink of water. I grab my telescope and head out to the backyard. It is a typical summer night warm but breezy. I glance at the sky, the stars are sparse the moon is a crescent. I set up my telescope on the deck, the trees block my view. I walk out into the yard barefoot and glance up at the sky again, no change. I go to the deck and retrieve my telescope. I walk around to the TV antenna on the side of my house. With my telescope underarm I climb up to the roof when I reach the top I try to set up my telescope, so it does not fall due to the slant of the roof. After a few minutes of fumbling around I am slightly successful. I look at the stars and the moon. Amazed at how much better they look even through a cheap telescope. After about an hour of standing and star gazing I get tired. I take out my cell phone and check the time, 3:37. I keep, during the summer, a lawn chair and one of those Rubbermaid boxes on my roof. In the box is a blanket, a pillow, binoculars, and some other stuff occasionally. I pull out the blanket and pillow and lay down on the roof. I stare at the stars. I doze off. I wake to the sun peaking out over the meager tree line in my back yard. I pull out my cell phone and check the time, 6:03. I lay there and watch the suburban sunrise, Shocked both by its beauty and the beauty it lacks.