Early Morning Writing Lacks Bite

I don't really have much to say today. It's early morning here for me. Around 9am, which is not habitual hours of being awake for me. I am becoming rather domesticated now. My girlfriend has a morning job and a loud alarm clock. She also likes to talk to me once she awakes, and then bring coffee into the bedroom, and then talk to me more. It is a tad difficult to sleep through all the incessant morning kindness. It takes her about an hour to roll out of the house, which is just enough time for me to have trouble getting back to sleep. And as she saunters out the house to work, I imagine her snickering that, once again, she got me out of bed way before noon. And, like clockwork, once the door closes and she leaves, I always find myself wondering what the hell I'm going to do with myself.

It usually starts with reading the Sports section of the Newspaper rather obsessively. I thoroughly read the sports stories searching for that tidbit of information that may spread light on a future game or potential trade. Then I look at the league standings and flex my mathematical muscles. I take in all the numbers, do the math, add in factors, and determine for myself how the standings may look in a day, a week, a month. I look for a pattern to emerge, then I predict winners and losers. You'd think I gamble, but I don't. The thrill of being right is enough and the shame of mis-calling a game brings me more shame than you'd think.

Then I sit down more and think what am I going to do today? This has been a pattern for years. It used to happen around 3 in the afternoon, but not thanks to girly, it occurs far too early. The thought of going back to nap always seems enticing, but usually by that time, she has begun to text me on my cell phone and it is harder than I thought it would be to tell your hard-working woman that while she was busting her butt at her job she hates, I was drooling on our pillows dreaming of hockey stats. So, I do something like try to pick up the new cat, or go for a cigarette. Sometimes I check the sports channels for new sports news, and then I get another text from Jessica, and I tell her I'm reading or something to that end. Then I start feeling guilty again, because while she's shoveling snow, I'm waiting to here more about the Calgary Flames' seventh round draft pick from three years ago who is battling scabies and the slim odds of making it to the NHL. Then I shower.

This is the turning point of the day. The shower is really where it all begins. Once I am clean, I feel a duty to be productive. If I do not shower, I will not do anything. I do not believe in being smelly or dirty, which is ironic, because I smoke and habitually where the same jacket again and again. But, once I shower, it's game-on, and I find myself ready to conquer the world.

Which is when I go outside for a smoke and realize it's only 10:30am, and I'm usually still sleeping, and I get a little mad that she keeps waking me up with coffee and love. But, even in haste, it's far nicer to be awoken to kindness and have a leisurely morning than it is to awake mid-day and realize I'm already three hours late for the meeting I clearly won't make it for.

They say the early bird gets the worm. I don't happen to like worms, but I understand an analogy when I hear it. Now, I see a clock that reads 9:38am, and I laugh to think that I've already done that which back in the day would not be done until sometime in the afternoon, and I have a whole day to think of writing a better piece than the one I just penned.