why so many many many many many violins?

20060706
01:05
This is something a little different....it's not done, it hasn't been edited, and it's going to continue with further entries. This is the first "installment." More to follow. It's "my stage routine."

I had fourty-seven bookmarks and three mail accounts to check that morning.

While I had purchased this computer - my first - a few months ago, my practices had become uniform. I woke up, slumped into the chair at my desk, and began reading. It was like riding a bike.

I had an order to my reading. The first few pages would focus on topics of relatively low interest. Yawning, I would allow the words to slide off of the screen, clearing the sleep from my eyes like a car-wash squeegee. The job was normally done by the time I reached the final few bookmarks.

Stretching, I made my way to the bathroom. My shower allowed my mind to buzz around the day's news like a mosquito. Twenty minutes later, with body and mind cleansed and collected, I emerged.

I didn't eat breakfast, that morning. I found no bread for my morning toast in the kitchen, so I gave up. My breakfasts were another routine, two slices of toast and a glass of orange juice.

I wonder when I realized that I would never get out of the house without a morning order. I think it was in kindergarten.

My breakfast hadn't been missed since I first moved into my apartment. I later realized that my order had disappeared by this point.

I left the house, locking the door behind me. The dew sleeping on my lawn was slowly being woken by the alarm clock of the sun. Its rays glanced off my part of the world in the way a sleepy lover says good morning. I thought that that morning seemed like it would make a good polaroid.

I had time before my first class, so I decided to stop at the bakery to buy some coffee. A new hire - a girl about my age, filling a counter position for the summer - rung up my coffee. She introduced herself with a tired smile, mirroring the sun peeking through the bakery windows. We spoke early pleasantries and spent some time exchanging mirror-house images of ourselves. Our conversation ate my morning's extra time, and I soon rushed out, escaping the lull created by that sleepy smile. Her name was Clara.

By the time I reached my class, I was late and my mind was occupied. That bakery stop had been a temporary break, I thought. I wouldn't think about it for awhile.

1 something something somethings

1 Comments:

muffin said...: note to self: be more careful at 1 am.; 8:15 AM, July 06, 2006