As the comedian Gary Gulman notes, the thing about life is … it’s every day. Every day the maintenance, the routines and rituals. And boy do I have a lot of them. I wish I could simply roll out of bed and be ready to go, but it’s a laborious process:
Roll over several times and wonder if I should try to sleep more before finally pushing myself out of bed. Change from sleep clothes (boxers, t-shirt and light fleece) into warmer intermediary clothing (for the Arctic journey from bed to kitchen to shower). Heat up coffee. Add creamer. Reheat coffee because the creamer cooled it down. Add just a little more creamer. Resist showering (Arctic chill again; thermostat is kept at a steady 50 degrees, day and night to save oil). Finally shower. Shave. Get dressed. Let Kramer out (she’s kept in living room at night and until I shower to avoid her making a move into my bedroom, the sanctum sanctorum, the only place in the house kept free of cat hair). By this time the coffee has kicked in and I need to sit on the toilet for a while. After that interlude I can, finally, sit down at my desk.
The activities above require, on any given morning, at least an hour to complete. The most precious commodity is time, and I feel as though most of mine is pissed away on stupid stuff. But, on the other hand, when confronted with shapeless time, the stuff of which notable accomplishments are made, I don’t know what to do with myself.