Have you ever had one of “those mornings?” You know the ones. The mornings when so many things go wrong, you’re convinced your day is doomed before it even really begins. Today I had one of those mornings.
It began when my alarm went off. The ring was the customary piercing beep that has been waking me up for years. (Actually, it used to be a radio station until my mind started incorporating the radio program into my dreams, thus defeating the purpose of having an alarm.)
So today, the alarm sounds and I go to reach for it and it falls off my side table…just far enough that I have to sit up and lean far out of my warm bed to turn it off. I then got out of my bed, half asleep, only to jam my pinky toe against the door frame on the way out of my room. What’s interesting is that I actually heard the sound of my foot hitting the wood frame a split second before I felt that searing pain. This was quickly followed by a dog like yelp and then a blind rage. (I’m one of those people that actually gets very mad after I hurt myself.)
So I hobble into my bathroom, flip on the blinding light and position myself to relieve the built up pressure on my bladder. As I reach down to lift up the seat, my hand instead touches the nasty cold rim of the toilet. Apparently I had left the seat up the night before…and also neglected to wipe the rim clean. So being the germophobe that I am, I kept one hand in virtual quarantine, waited for my erection to subside and proceeded to do my thing. Now for reasons I can’t explain, when a man goes to the bathroom, occasionally his urine comes out in a randomly erratic stream instead of the direct, laser like precision we are used to. This morning was one of those occasions. (By the way, I’m trying to be universal here while secretly praying that it isn’t just me.)
So after I wiped off the toilet rim, the wall and my legs, I headed to the kitchen for some water. Unfortunately, my water tank was empty. So after enjoying a couple of glasses of luke warm, metallic tasting water, which I managed to slightly choke on in my haste to drink it, I made a bowl of cereal (on work days, I choose to brush after breakfast to spare my co-workers stale cereal breath). Needless to say, I spilled some when the bowl tipped as I read the paper. But relatively speaking, breakfast was a success.
Then came the shower. What can you say about a bad shower? First, I didn’t realize my soap had run out until after I was soaked so after pawing at the slop in the soap dish, I had to make that freezing, slippery shuffle across the bathroom floor to get a new bar. After I made it back into the stall, I was met with a startlingly complete medley of constantly changing water pressure, shampoo in the eyes, soap in the eyes, body wash in the eyes and a new bar of soap that refused to stay in my hands, all of which combined to turn the customary highlight of my mornings into the most consistently frustrating part of my morning. Each little mishap on its own isn’t so bad but today I hit all of the above and, particularly with the slipping soap, I kept getting angrier and angrier. I was so flustered I even forgot to masturbate.
So I manage to towel off, walk through the puddles I made running for the new bar of soap and wiped off the sink mirror. First up: the shave. Now after the morning I was having, I just knew I was in for a bad ride. Just like a mother knows when her child is in trouble, I knew I was in for a minor league bloodletting. And I didn’t disappoint, even going so far as to cut the cartilage on the lower part of my nostril. And for any guy (or girl – hey I don’t judge) who has ever cut that part of their face shaving, they can attest to the fact that it NEVER STOPS BLEEDING. It also offers up the same small yet piercing pain as a good paper cut.
Next up, it was finally time to brush my teeth. The time lapse is disgusting, I know, but fortunately I’m pretty surly in the morning so no one wants to talk to me anyway. I was expecting a good mouth bleed, maybe a painful slip of the brush into my gums, but nothing. The paste even stayed on the bristles as I ran the brush under the tap. Things were looking up. Some of the bleeding from my shave had even begun to subside.
All that was left was the finishing: hair, aftershave and applicable scents to carry me through the day. Again, things went well, no unexpected cowlicks in my hair or stinging deodorant scrapes to be experienced. So I changed quickly and gave myself a final once over before leaving for work…and promptly stepped in a large puddle of water while reaching for some toilet paper for my nostril wound. Apparently I wasn’t quite out of the woods just yet.
By this point I’m late. I run to my car and head off down my street. I live just off a main artery that feeds a highway, so you really have to pull into traffic quickly when a big enough gap opens up. So I’m waiting, looking left, waiting, until finally my opportunity comes. So I gun the engine, make my right turn and abruptly break to a stop about 20 feet later. My commute is approximately 30 miles, one way and today I was destined to drive that distance at parking lot speed. I’m not even exaggerating. Every time I thought traffic was opening up (as it normally would at particular parts of my commute) I would begin to gather speed, my spirits rising with the speedometer until I came to a dead stop a few short feet later. It was awful.
I finally got to work and made it to my desk. Time for another thing I look forward to every morning: a cup of coffee. One thing about a paper cup of coffee that I should be more aware of is that the lid is an integral part of the packaging. A quick glance at the upholstery in my car would indicate I’m not new to this idea. However, on this morning – the worst of mornings – I didn’t affix the lid properly and proceeded to spill my hot coffee all over my hand and a display tray of muffins. I stopped to think about the best way to clean my mess up before instead scurrying out of there, never to be seen in those parts again.
Of course, returning to my desk I saw a nice smorgasbord of telephone messages, emails and “urgent” requests for information I didn’t know how to find. Great. Approximately 10 hours later, I was walking out to my car when I saw an all too familiar piece of pink paper trapped under my windshield wiper, flapping meekly in the wind. A parking ticket. Sure it wasn’t the morning anymore but apparently bad morning karma carries through the day. In fact, I think I’m going to go to bed and put this one well behind me…after I masturbate of course.