Undoubtedly, once every month or so, there is a morning where everything seems to go wrong. The expiration date on the milk has been exceeded; you can’t find your left shoe; upon waking up you discover that some part of your body has been in an unnatural position for the last few hours of slumber. All of these things and many more signal that fateful day when everything you do or say will have the faint odor of crap. Today, thus far, has been one of those days.
I guess it all started last night. It’s never a good idea to spend three or four days getting out of your sleeping schedule. When the body’s used to going to bed at 12 and getting up around 7, you shouldn’t throw a monkey wrench into that fine order. Well I did. Consequently, last night, I couldn’t fall asleep. One thirty rolled around and I had still not descended into the comforting bowels of sleepiness. I tried to post, but the internet was down, so I ended up reading PC Gamer until the point of my staying up reached absurdity.
All this came back to haunt me full force when the alarm went off at seven and I uttered a few choice words under my breath. Of course I rolled over and went back to sleep, telling myself that I’d get up when Greg got out of the shower. Oh how I cursed that jerk when he finished up in a mere 15 minutes.
I reluctantly crawled out of bed, feeling somewhere in between roadkill and a boxer who’d been punched in the kidneys a few too many times. I instinctively went for the Frosted Flakes and disgusting fat free milk, not caring that the expiration date had been reached a few days prior (I’ll be sure to post about my ensuing illness). You see, nothing really mattered to me because I was cold. In fact, upon some scientific inquiry, I realized that my nipples’ hardness ranked on the Moh’s scale somewhere north of diamond…and there isn’t anything north of diamond. I’ve always been in the camp of people who insisted that being hot was much worse that being cold; this morning that all changed. I longed to fire up a blow torch and scorch my entire body. I had vivid and soothing fantasies of charging headlong into a raging fire. Oh anything to escape the icy prison that was apartment 235. If only I had known it would get worse.
I wrapped myself in my amazing down comforter (about a 9 on the comfort scale, as long as we’re rating physical qualities today). I was finally getting a little warm, comfortable if you will. I started to entertain the idea that I would ditch my first class today. “Oh man, it would be sweet (SWEET!) if I could miss my first class, go back to bed wrapped my lovely comforter, and sleep the sweet dreams of a satisfied man who is warm.” I got up to check the attendance policy of my first class. What do you know…there are NO absences allowed. I quote, “Any unexcused absence will result in the lowering of the student’s grade by one letter.” What a crock! This is college! Attendance should never be required and even if it is, there should be some leeway. What if I forgot to sign in? Instantly a B because I forget to apply my John Hancock (Herbie Hancock?) to the fascist regime’s namesheet in the back? My indignity faded as I began to accept my fate. Today will suck, I will be cold, I have to go to school.
Dejectedly, I gathered my clothes and marched off to the shower. I turned on the water, let it run to get warm, and then got in. Oh the profanities…I could have sworn ice cubes were being shot onto my unprotected body. There was no warm water. Not a drop. It sucks to be the last guy to take a shower in the morning. I can’t wait until next semester when we have one more roommate.
I got out of the shower, shivering like a shorn chihuahua that’d been tossed into a snow drift. If I were Bruce Banner, at that moment I would have transformed into the Hulk and ripped the toilet out of the floor and perhaps killed a puppy. Yes, I was more than mad. I was PUPPY KILLING mad! The sort of unrighteous anger that clubs baby seals and blows up Disneyland. I was so angry that I swear, I just wanted to make an innocent child cry. I’m not proud of it, but that’s the shameful low a man will reach when his morning routine is so horribly butchered, his day so woefully off to a wrong start, his natural warmth so shamefully robbed from him.
Oh well, I suppose it would be the height of insanity if I didn’t keep all this in perspective. Life is good, the oneplace preview service was incredible last night, and, as Lileks would say, it’s another day on the right side of the dirt. Cheers and huzzah all around.