Mornings like these...

I had a late morning this morning. It wasn’t dead; it was just tardy.

Normally, you see, I go into work at 6:30am. I wake up at 4:00am, go to the gym at 4:10am, hurt myself for the better part of an hour, and come back at 5:00am. Then, I shower and dress and pack my lunch and eat breakfast and head out by 6:00am, so I can get to work at 6:30am. This is craziness.

This morning, I thought I’d try going into work at 10:00am. This sounded more reasonable. Anyway, I had a meeting at 7:00pm near my place of employment for the Orange County Writers Who For As Good As We Are Can’t Seem For The Life of Us To Get Published At All In Any Way Period It’s Pathetic Really tonight anyway, so why not just go into work late and stick around for the meeting. You know, and hope I’m not the only one there… again…

There’s something just fantastic about letting your body wake up when it wants. If only my body thought the same thing.

It’s so used to waking up at 4:00am, it woke me up at that time. I looked at the clock. No… it’s only 4:00am. I can get a whole lot more sleep than this.

Then, at 5:00, it woke me again. No kidding – I don’t have to wake up. Go back to sleep.

At 6:00am, I was getting angry. Didn’t my body realize I was trying to let it sleep?

At 7:00am, Vicky woke me up. “You wanted to get up and go to the gym, right?”

Now, I try not to grumble. Mostly because Vicky corners the market on that and, you know, you don’t want to steal someone else’s material. Instead, I said, “Yes, of course,” and went back to sleep.

But, by 7:15am, I was up and out of bed.

I got to the gym by 7:45am. Now, I was already on the clock. I knew that I had to be at work at 10:00am, which meant I had to leave by, say, 9:15am. It takes me a half hour to get dressed, get my lunch packed, and eat something for breakfast. That “something” is very vague because, being out of milk as I am, it’s usually whatever I can pull out of the freezer or the pantry that doesn’t require the accompaniment of milk. I’m not picky. Frozen dinners are fine! Anyway, that puts me back to 8:45am. With about a half hour to shower, brush, etcetera – and etcetera usually includes a ten minute discussion with the dog about how my workout made my shirt stick to me and who wants to pull that over their heads? – I was now at 8:15. But that only gave me a half hour to work out! I get more time when I wake up at the asscrack of dawn!

So, I stretched it out. I worked out on the elliptical, the machine that makes you think you’re running like a superhero, for 40 minutes, and then I was on the bike for 15. Now, I don’t know how I did this but it was only about 8:30am when I was done. All I can figure is I did that thing where you slow down time by running really fast. The Flash did this once, I think – so it must have been the elliptical.

Anyway, when I got home, I skipped my conversation with Suki. She didn’t look too put out, anyway. As I stepped into the shower, I noticed that Vicky had put up fresh towels. Beach towels. I thought, “Beach towels? For the shower?” And they weren’t just beach towels, they were really brightly stripped beach towels. I thought, “Either we really need to do laundry or Vicky is planning on having us join clown school.” One way or the other, I still had to take a shower.

Stepping out afterwards, it was like I’d forgotten all about the beach towels. I saw them and thought, “Oh, right. Beach towels.” It wasn’t until I started drying myself that I realized just what a fantastic idea this was. Beach towels! Suddenly, I felt like I was at the beach. Maybe Vicky was trying to hint that we should move to Jamaica? Either way, I was loving it. I thought, “I’ll just slip down to the water, lay down on a chair, get a little sun, and waste my day on the shore.” Then, I opened the bathroom door and was hit in the face by the fact that, while I was wasting my time planning my day at the beach, I still had to go to work. No Jamaica. No beach. Just a stupid towel. A towel of lies!

Great. Not only am I not going to the beach but I’ll be late for work!

So, I dash through the house, put on my slacks, grab my socks and shoes – so I’m pulling up socks on feet that aren’t entirely dry and the socks are resisting me. They don’t like wetness. They’re holding back. I’m saying, “Come on. You’ll get dry. I promise! Somewhere on the 91, you’ll be dry.” I pulled and pulled until I started thinking, “What would happen if I pulled so hard my foot went right through? Would that be possible?” It wasn’t… not that time, at least – and I race downstairs to heat up a burrito for, of course, breakfast. A burrito for breakfast, a yogurt and a fruit cup for lunch, and a chicken soft taco for dinner – and people say I don’t eat healthy.

Only then do I realize that the dog, my adorable Suki, is waiting at the door. I’ve got half a burrito in my mouth and my dog wants to go for a stroll. I can’t stroll; can’t she see that? I’ve got to RUN!

So, I take the dog out for a stroll. It’s now past 9:00am and I’m waiting while the dog sniffs where another dog peed. Great. We get back and I’m wolfing down my food when I notice Suki at her dish. She’s hungry. Of course. I say, “I’ll feed you as soon as I force down these last few bites.” When you’re in a rush, you don’t chew – you just push really hard. Then, I grabbed my lunchbox and my coat, ran out the door, got in my car, and drove off.

By the 91 freeway, my socks were dry – as promised.

But, of course, I forgot to feed Suki.

… um…. Vicky?