A day in the life...

The alarm clock blares out like a beacon call, an ambulance coarsing through the cold night to find it's victim. I roll over, lift a crusty eye sleepily open, and beat on the snooze button.

5 minutes.

Another call. Again, my hand beats down on the snooze button and all is calm for another 4 minutes and 59 seconds. Bliss. Warmth. Heat. Blare. Beat. Blare. Beat. I beat the fucking top. I pound it into the nightstand. I curse and turn and pound and fight.

I'm half awake now, so everything that surrounds me feels real. I see myself standing at the coffee pot at work. I see myself fall into my chair and the phone rings. I pick it up, but it continues to ring. I pick it up, but it continues to ring. I pick it the fuck up and it continues to ring; so, I slam it back on the receiver and it continues to ring.

My eyes crack open and I am awake. I realize that the phone wasn't ringing--it was just my alarm. I sit straight up in bed and immediately am struck with the desire to lay back down. Just 5 more minutes...borrow some time from the morning...sleepy sleepy time. I heave my legs over to the side of the bed, shut off the alarm clock, but I continue to hear the bleating. I stand up, walk over to my daughter's small toddler bed and I shut off that alarm clock. I walk out into the living room and shut off the alarm clock on my nightstand. I chuckle to myself at the fact that I have 3 alarm clocks all torturing me in the morning. I read the time: 5:30 AM. For weeks I have beaten my nemesis. For weeks I have stared in the face of my chrono lateness and sent it packing. I am a man now; the little boy who couldn't get out of bed in the mornings is left lying in the past somewhere, suspended forever in time in the form of a memory.

I push the power on the T.V. as I hobble past towards the bathroom. I put one hand on the wall behind the toilet and slowly fumble for my morning wood and furiously try to aim it down towards the tiny little hole. Relief. Freedom. Slowly but surely it softens back up and the task isn't quite so daunting. I flush. I pull open the mirror to reveal a cacophony of bath products...I fumble for my toothbrush and lazily apply toothpaste. Brush. Brush. Brush. Inspect. Years of smoking are, finally, telling me that if I don't quit soon that I will be staring a pearly yellows. I vow that in the future I will kick that nasty habit for good. But for now, I brush like there is no tomorrow.

Spit. Rinse. Brrr....my teeth are cold. My whole body shivers at the experience. I hobble back out, flop onto the couch, and flip through the channels. I stop when it reaches the morning news and light a cigarette.

Puff. Obama this. Puff. Obama that. Puff. War. Puff. Poor economy. Puff. OH WOE IS ME!

I stub out the cigarette and walk into the kitchen. I pull open the cabinet and fumble out a pill. Prilosec. Hello heartburn my old friend. Meet the antidote. I grab a glass and fill it with water from my water cooler (oh boy oh boy oh boy). I kick back a swig and swallow the pill. I contemplate making breakfast; I decide against it.

Shave. Shower. Clothes. Shoes. Coat. It's freezing. I undo the lock and step outside, pulling the door shut beside me. The winter air blasts me in the face and I silently think, "Buh-buh-buh-buhbrrrrring it the fuck on, winter. Bring it the fuck on."

Scrape scrape scrape scrape. Frost. I look down at my scraper, the lovely little gift (the first one) from my son. He seemed so pleased when I opened it. And why wouldn't he be? Not only was it a scraper, but it's a scraper with a wool scarf for your hand to fit up under so it doesn't get cold. I'm instantly filled with a sense of both longing and peace...I miss my children.

I drive. It squeaks. I drive. It squeaks. I drive. I turn of the heat it squeaks. I turn on the heat it squeaks. I turn it off and throw the car into nuetral it squeaks. I curse the day I was born and murmer a curse word as I turn on the heat and let it squeak. Finally, the squeaking goes away and I fire up another cig. I think about the day before me, and I let a sigh escape my lips. Another long day. Another long day at work. I think of what I am going to do with all the money. I can't decide. I let a sigh escape from my lips.

I walk in the door, it's 6:30. I listen to the guys in my office make snide comments about how I am on time all of a sudden. It's been three weeks...they won't let it go. They can't fathom the fact that I have got it under control. So they joke and sneer and laugh at my expense. I shake my head and I flip on my computer. I walk out and get a cup of coffee and say hi to my boss as I walk past his door.

Work work work. Play. Work. Play work. Laugh. Smile. Talk. Nod. Nod. Yup. I don't relate. I don't relate. I can't relate. They are old I am young they are old I am young. I let a sigh escape from my lips.

Lunch. Drive. Hot dogs. Mountain dew. 4 o'clock...5 o'clock....6 o'clock...7 o'clock. Another day, another dollar. I hobble out to the car. I let a sigh escape from my lips. It's dark. It was dark when I arrived. I drive. I stop. I crack open my keys, and insert it into my mailbox. No mail. Junk mail. Bills. No mail. Junk mail. Bills.

I drive. I am home. I fall onto the bed for a brief moment. I order some food and wait for it to arrive at my door. I watch TV. I play on the internet. I read. Time flies so fast in the evenings and before I know it, I am pulling back the covers. I walk around and set each of my three alarm clocks. I crawl up under the covers and stare at the ceiling. I think about my day and stare at the ceiling. I think about tomorrow and stare at the ceiling.

And for a moment, a brief moment, as I hang suspended between reality and the dream world, I remind myself that life is good and there is always tomorrow.

And so, I wait and watch for tomorrow, but it never comes. It never comes...