in the mornPosted: March 2, 2009
I go through just about the same process every morning.
My cell phone doubles as an alarm clock, and I am awoken by the sound of one of the fifteen default ringtones. If I were to hear that same ringtone when staring off into space while, say, drinking tea at a café and generally acting pretentious, I would snap out of my trance and have an inexplicable urge to go brush my teeth. The path between the warmth of a bed and the warmth of a shower is akin to the journey of a wandering minstrel traveling between taverns of various hamlets. It doesn’t take me very long to get ready. I’m usually out of the door within a half hour; fifteen minutes if I decide to forgo breakfast, which I’ve heard many a friend often do. Thirty minutes after being thrust out of the realm of dreams, I’m half awake and staring at the headlights of the various cars that pass by coalesce with the rising sun. As I settle in, I let the sound of whatever my musical taste is at the time obscure the low rumble of engines and interject an otherwise, for lack of a better word, boring trip. I’ll then proceed to say hello to people I always say hello to, ignoring the buzz of human voice that replaced the rumble of engines. The seemingly-linoleum tile that I stand on during that time always seems to smell like it’s newly waxed. The flourescent lights always seem to burn my eyes.
Such is the morning process.