Alarm goes off, I can’t figure out what it is. My brain tells me that it must be either some sort of emergency, or whatever is in the oven is done cooking. After a few seconds of listening to the alarm—the volume increasing gradually all the time—I realize that it’s my clock. I realize that it’s time to wake up. But that just can’t be. 4:40? What kind of crazy dream am I involved with now?
Sadly, it’s no dream. It’s time to get up. Have to go into work early, have to spend the rest of the week working my ass off in order to make up for the day that I missed. Coffee’s in the maker, ready to go—good thinking on my part last night. I stagger into the kitchen, hit the switch, and it takes a few seconds for the coffee maker to turn on. Sucks when even your coffee pot doesn’t like to be awake so early. “What? Ray, it’s not even five in the morning, yet. The hell you want?”
“I need coffee, coffeemaker.”
“Yeah? Me, too. Why don’t you run down to IHOP, grab us a couple cups?”
“The car won’t wake up.”
“Man, I hate Mondays.”
“You’re a real shithead, you know that?”
I packed my lunch last night, so I don’t have to figure out the complexities of using a butter knife this morning, but getting dressed seems to be causing difficulties—one of my socks seems to be on backwards, I think. Or maybe it’s just on the wrong body part, I don’t know. I look at the myriad of vitamins that I need to take, and I feel that at least some of them should help me in this sort of situation, but the idea of swallowing anything more than coffee right now just seems ludicrous.
I type with my eyes nearly closed, as the monitor is blinding—the rest of the lights are off, with the exception of the little red light of the coffee maker glaring at me.
I don’t know where my shoes are, but it’s my turn in the bathroom, so let the adventures begin, I guess.