a day in the life

4:15am. The hall light clicks on to begin the nudging hell, reminding me that I do have to get up and face reality.
4:35am: The “jolting” alarm goes off, which I promptly slam to snooze.
4:40am: The “soothing” alarm sounds, which I also immediately turn off, I just don’t slap it as hard as the other.
4:45am: The light in the bedroom flips on. I drag pillows over my head to block the light.
4:46am: The "jolting" alarm goes off for the second time; I shut it off again and pull it into the bed with me so that I don’t have to move so far the next time.
Fuck.
4:50am: The television comes on. The nightmares that are the news are being read in non-committal murmuring tones, and I give up and struggle out of bed. I pull on worn red shorts, ATA t-shirt, a sweatshirt and flip-flops.
Coffee smells, if I had half the sense to load the pot the night before, beg me downstairs.
Jasmine, still curled on her bed, opens one eye, pretends she doesn’t see me, and doesn’t move until she realizes I’ve got her food bowl in my hand and am headed out the garage door to pick up yesterday’s ignore mail/bills, today’s paper, and her food.
Four cups of coffee or eight espresso shots and damned near an hour later, I am re-dressed and out the door to run. The iPod [thank you God for MP3 players] helps me forget that it’s dark and cold. I remember that Puckerlips once vented that the only reason I run is to impress men. Yep, that’s gotta be it. The streets are just lined with them at 5:30am, and they adore women with exercise-induced snot running down their faces, too. It’s quite attractive.
Back home, I read emails until I realize I’m freezing. Shower. Find something that fits and doesn’t have to be dry cleaned. Intend to eat fruit for breakfast (who am I kidding? What fruit?) , but I really want to eat any greasy thing I have in the house. I end up with a bowl of ramen noodles instead.
To the dentist. Seems that my stress level is playing havoc with my gums. I literally will the numbers to be better than the last time, and they are, so I am granted a three month reprieve from an expensive, miserably painful treatment.
Home for a few hours. Do laundry, knit, and wait for the guy who’s going to fix the lamppost that was trashed in yesterday’s storm. He never showed.
Load Jasmine in the car for her annual exam. Her dental issues are worse than mine, and she has to have a cleaning done, which I schedule for next week.
I find something in the depths of the freezer for dinner, but the microwave’s acting up again, worse than usual. I swear so loud and slam the door so many times that it starts working, out of complete fear. Good plan.
Memo to appliances – if you stop working, I will throw you out in the cold. I’d happily fix you, but the manger of the service department at Clark’s Appliances decided a few years back that he needed to hike the cost of a show-up call by twice what it used to be. Cook top? Kiss my ass; I will use the grill all winter long. At least charcoal and lighter fluid work. Dryer? I’ll hang my clothes in the garage.
I’m tired and fed up and have had two glasses of wine. I’m considering a third. I wouldn’t mess with me right now.