10/18/2004 - Morning Routine

Every weekday morning, without fail, my morning routine goes like this.

6:00am - My radio alarm goes off. I think to myself, "I am a rock star. Rock stars only acknowledge one 6:00 per day, and it's not the one in the a.m." I hit Snooze.
6:11am - Either my alarm has been going off for one minute, or Snooze takes 11 minutes. Someday I'll figure that out. I hit Snooze again.
6:23am - Bob and Tom are saying something funny. I lie in peace for a moment, listening to morning radio. I love morning radio. Bob and Tom, you guys rock. I hit Snooze again.
6:34am - Aw, man. I can't hit Snooze anymore. I lay there peacefully, listening to Bob and Tom some more, catch the morning traffic and weather, then slowly roll out of bed. It is 6:37am.
6:37am - I start the coffee. I plan the morning. "In the shower by 6:50am; done by 7:10am; dry off; feed kids at 7:15am; finish getting ready by 7:30am; get kids dressed by 7:35am; out the door at 7:40am." I am a well oiled machine.
6:40am - Pack up my computer. Check my To-Do list. Catch the weather on TV. Pick out my clothes. Pack up my school books. I also seem to have invented a time travel machine that launches me 10 minutes into the future.
7:00am - How the devil did that just take 20 minutes? That's absurd! I hop in the shower, committed to the prospect that I will finish my shower in 10 minutes, even though I have never taken a shower that short in my whole life.
7:10am - I glance at the clock. I'm pretty much washed up, and it's 7:10am, so I relax for about 15 seconds, and then get out.
7:15am - Some rip in the fabric of time and space has made my perception of 15 seconds equivilant to 5 minutes. I stare at myself in the mirror in utter confusion for an additional minute.
7:16am - Okay, I needed to have breakfast for the boys one minute ago. So I need to dry off, and... what else? Dang! What am I supposed to do? Oh yeah! Get some clothes on. And my contacts.
7:23am - I can still make it, I'm sure of it. I have breakfast on the table, the boys wearily munching away, and I'm back in the bathroom getting all gussied up.
7:30am - It took me 7 minutes to get breakfast? How is this possible? I start the rest of my routine, which includes shaving, making my hair look sexy, getting the rest of my clothes on, and making myself smell good.
7:40am - Okay, I was supposed to leave now. I only have to get my shoes, though. And... aw, dammit, I need to make their lunches! Oh my gosh! I forgot to pick out their clothes! Okay, get clothes for the boys. No worries. They can get dressed while I make their lunches.
7:50am - Lunches are done, boys are in the process of getting dressed. The five year old says, "Can you button my pants?" Okay, yeah, get over here, fast! I grab him by the buckle, pull him over, and button his pants. He almost falls over in the process, and says, "Whee! That was fun, dad!" Why aren't your socks on? Go! Go! Go!
7:55am - All of the school bags are packed. Do I have everything? I'm hungry. I need an apple. Wait! I'm not wearing any shoes!
7:56am - I glance in the mirror while running to get my shoes. Look at my hair! I look like I just got off of a rollercoaster! I look at the clock. The second hand is flying. So's my hair. I can't let the ladies see me like this! So I start working on my hair a second time.

I glance back at the clock.
"You're late," says the clock.
"Shut up!"

I can't believe this. My hair has that stupid Big Boy lump in it, and the clock is moving double speed while taking jabs at me. I glance back at the clock. The minute hand is pointing straight up, just like a middle finger.

"Okay, you jerk."
"Hey, man, " says the clock. "Be cool."
"Don't flip me off!"
"Dang, man. Y'know... fine. I won't say what you are, but it rhymes with... SLOW!"
Total exasperation. "So's your mother!"

Silence. I'm looking in the mirror, trying to comb my hair, smearing in enough Dep to make a helmet once it dries. The clock's mad at me, I know it, but I'm pretending that it's not there.

"That was low, Jay, " it finally says. The clock's mother was autistic. I didn't mean it like that, I really didn't, but he's pushing my buttons at the wrong time.
"Look, man, I don't have time for this."

Silence. Dammit. I thought single guys didn't have to deal with this. Finally, I give in.
"Okay, I'm sorry. It's Monday."
"You don't have to take it out on me."
"Listen, I just don't need anyone giving me crap right now."
There's a dramatic pause. Then the clock tearfully cries, "You've got to let somebody love you, Jay!"

Where the hell did that come from? I throw my comb on the counter and say, "Bye!" As I walk towards the door, some sad song by Air Supply starts playing, but I maintain my stern resolve.

Kids! Whups! Gotta get the kids. I chase one out the door while carrying the other like a suitcase. "Whee!"

In retrospect, it really looks like I create this drama for myself, but I'm sure that that's not the case. I'm doing my best, everyone. I'm just a squirrel trying to get a nut. Okay?