It started with waking up @ 8:28 on a Monday morning. A Monday morning where I was supposed to be at work by 8:30.... supposed to be.
Now those of you who read this blog most likely know that I don't like mornings. I wish I did... but when you get down to it... i just don't. Alarms going off send an adverse reaction through my body. I purposely set my alarm early so i can take it to the clock and hit snooze as if to show it up (and yes, it does makes me feel a little better). Well those days when the alarm mysteriously "doesn't go off" (i'm often the number one skeptic of that excuse)... sends a whole new series of feelings... panic, confusion, shock, frenzy, anxiety... and often leads to the perfectly, imperfect day.
no snooze for you... instant jump out of bed... check yourself out... do i wash my face? will it be worth it to save time if i just put my make up on now? what about my hair? does it really need to be brushed?reality check. you deal with people all day... wash you face, brush your hair (and teeth).... BUT FAST! oh great... patient @ 9... move faster! grab the first clothes you see... i hope they match.... one leg... then the other... man... I hate these pants. shirt. hair in a pony. i look good enough. man, i still hate these pants... The first good thing of the day is the cup of coffee that meets me at the door... the good thing about the ride to work is that it's always going to take as long as it takes... enough to enjoy the coffee :)
8:48. amazingly, not that late. I understand, it's relative... and I've even been trying to be more intentional about arriving actually on time instead of a few minutes late... but considering that a mere 21 minutes ago i was still in a deep slumber... I'm impressed... disheveled... but impressed. I walk down the hallway, apologize to my boss, and get to work... man, I still hate these pants. These pants fall into the category of "should still be good"... they are a reputable brad name, have yet to show wear, and for all practical purposes... should still be ok... but they're not. They're a hair too small... and just short enough for me to feel self conscious about. i hate these pants. every time i use the bathroom, I go through a repeated ritual that is as predictable as Sean Casey up to bat... I pull up my pants... high. I button them just shy of my belly button, place my hands in my pockets and spend the next few seconds wiggling them down as far as the waist will take them. I hate those pants. I then check the cuffs, make sure they are past my shoes... take a deep breath and leave. i hate those pants. That's the story of the day... those darn pants. Every time i get up, sit down, walk fast, or sit still... it doesn't matter what you do, they just never make you feel, or look right.... they were on my mind until 5:11 when i returned home to put on my favorite pair of jeans...
... and put the pants back in the closet.
