So it's Tuesday at 6:14 a.m. I am a rockstar. I am jogging with my dog, plowing through my novel's plot points in my head and feeling fan-bloody-tastic.
And thennnn..... my alarm goes off. I snooze for the next hour while my pudgy dog snores next to me. After the 6th snooze button, I hoist myself off of the bed and down the hall to clean all the only-in-my-dreams exercise sweat off.
As the foamy white toothpaste drips down my chin I think of old people. Old people eating breakfast. I don't usually eat breakfast. Will I ever be old if I don't like breakfast? Are there old people that don't eat breakfast? Surely not.
Bruce (my faithful corgi mix) flops his body down with a fleshy thud at my feet. The rush of air from his flop blew the thoughts of old people and breakfast from my head and I leave them suspended in the bathroom near the stacks of washcloths.
I grab Bruce's leash and let him lead the way around the neighborhood. As I'm passing the Hillary '08 sign (let it go already) and am about to reach the McCain '08 sign (where Bruce likes to poop, and maybe I encourage that a bit) I think of old people again. Now, maybe it's the McCain sign that makes me think of the elderly, and of other things I don't like, but that's twice this morning I'm thinking about old people.
As I'm about to go all Carl Jung on my subconcious my cell phone rings.
I don't know anyone who is awake and chatty at 7:20 a.m. This can not be good.
It's my co-worker, according to my caller ID. This, or the McCain sign, or probably both make me groan. What in the hell could he want?
"Hello?"
"Angela, it's Schmandrew (name amusingly misspelled for privacy) are you on your way to the morning meeting? I'm going to be late."
Fuck.
"Angela?"
"Uh, yeah. I mean. Crap. Bruce no! Leave it! LEAVE IT! Um, yeah, so I guess really, that I, um forgot, but I can totally be there in 15 minutes."
"Ok, yeah well it's ok, how's your morning so far? I hear...."
Schmandrew likes to talk. He likes to ask me questions and answer them himself. He's a really nice guy, but never shuts up. I Do-NOT want to go to this pointless meeting. We started meeting at 7:30am three weeks ago on Tuesday mornings at a coffee shop breakfast place called Delight's (name changed for my own entertainment). It's located next to an active retirement community.
Old People. and Breakfast.
I put my phone back in my pocket and start high-speed-mall walking back to my house dragging ol' tanky Bruce behind me. As I swish-swish-swish I hear some mumbling. Then a very distinct "Ya know what I mean?" I didn't hang the phone up, and Schmandrew hasn't noticed. I laugh politely and then get the hell off the phone.
It's going to be a hell of a day.
And thennnn..... my alarm goes off. I snooze for the next hour while my pudgy dog snores next to me. After the 6th snooze button, I hoist myself off of the bed and down the hall to clean all the only-in-my-dreams exercise sweat off.
As the foamy white toothpaste drips down my chin I think of old people. Old people eating breakfast. I don't usually eat breakfast. Will I ever be old if I don't like breakfast? Are there old people that don't eat breakfast? Surely not.
Bruce (my faithful corgi mix) flops his body down with a fleshy thud at my feet. The rush of air from his flop blew the thoughts of old people and breakfast from my head and I leave them suspended in the bathroom near the stacks of washcloths.
I grab Bruce's leash and let him lead the way around the neighborhood. As I'm passing the Hillary '08 sign (let it go already) and am about to reach the McCain '08 sign (where Bruce likes to poop, and maybe I encourage that a bit) I think of old people again. Now, maybe it's the McCain sign that makes me think of the elderly, and of other things I don't like, but that's twice this morning I'm thinking about old people.
As I'm about to go all Carl Jung on my subconcious my cell phone rings.
I don't know anyone who is awake and chatty at 7:20 a.m. This can not be good.
It's my co-worker, according to my caller ID. This, or the McCain sign, or probably both make me groan. What in the hell could he want?
"Hello?"
"Angela, it's Schmandrew (name amusingly misspelled for privacy) are you on your way to the morning meeting? I'm going to be late."
Fuck.
"Angela?"
"Uh, yeah. I mean. Crap. Bruce no! Leave it! LEAVE IT! Um, yeah, so I guess really, that I, um forgot, but I can totally be there in 15 minutes."
"Ok, yeah well it's ok, how's your morning so far? I hear...."
Schmandrew likes to talk. He likes to ask me questions and answer them himself. He's a really nice guy, but never shuts up. I Do-NOT want to go to this pointless meeting. We started meeting at 7:30am three weeks ago on Tuesday mornings at a coffee shop breakfast place called Delight's (name changed for my own entertainment). It's located next to an active retirement community.
Old People. and Breakfast.
I put my phone back in my pocket and start high-speed-mall walking back to my house dragging ol' tanky Bruce behind me. As I swish-swish-swish I hear some mumbling. Then a very distinct "Ya know what I mean?" I didn't hang the phone up, and Schmandrew hasn't noticed. I laugh politely and then get the hell off the phone.
It's going to be a hell of a day.
Comments