An Unrealistic Bliss

I awake in sheer panic, frantically fumbling for an alarm clock I surely forget to set or have been completed ignoring. Through shuddering breaths I realize I had no need to be awoken so early. I scan the sounds of the house in this new morning light. Why do I not hear the sounds of competing iPads, blasting YouTubers at deafening volumes? Could it be the humans I’ve made might actually still be sleeping, even though the sun is risen? I quietly slip out of my bed and tiptoe through the house. An aroma is filling the air. A steaming hot cup of coffee and a cheese Danish is sitting posed on my completly bare and sanitized counter? I take the piping mug into my grasp and my eyes meet our family activity calendar. Everything has been crossed off for today? How is this plausible without inclement weather or glitch in the time space continuum? My Roomba hits my foot, and aboutface turns to continue its work without prompting. I take a nibble of the pasty, fully assuming it would conjure someone asking for a bite who would then proceeds to chew loudly with their mouth open, triggering my misophonia. No one appeared. Instead, I stand in the quiet, clean, caffienated fantasy, or what is most likely a delusional episode or psychotic break. I close my eyes and breathe. I curl up on a freshly fluffed couch with an orgasmically soft blanket and exist for myself for five whole minutes.