A day in the life: My mourning ritual [Writing]
Every time I go to write a morning routine for myself I find that I feel like I'm planning my funeral. Open casket or closed? Brush your teeth before or after breakfast? I feel the need to write a morning routine for the same reason people plan funerals. Someone is going to be dead, it's going to be a really tough time and it will be easier if you answer the big questions in advance. There are quite a few similarities between me and a corpse before 10 A.M., rigid, sticky, matted hair. Even the questions you are going to ask have a lot in common, what will I wear? What to eat? Will I go to hell if I crowd surf a corpse?
For me the only difference between morning and mourning is the way it's spelled. I could say it's because I'm missing "U", but that would probably make everyone ill and no one wants to taste lunch twice.
So I write an itemized list and even include a schedule. I set my alarm on time, that's the only part of my morning that is. Snooze button a time or two, consider quitting everything and just laying here forever. Crawl beneath some invisible mountain toward the edge of my bed. Before I stand up I go through the five stages of grief, and then I stumble like a drunk donkey in stilettos to the bathroom. Grimace as I glance at my reflection, my hair all fluffy and matted, drool cascading in dry tidal pools across my face, and pillow marks on my face that resemble tribal branding.
The shower water pitches wildly between absolute zero and hell fire if I so much as breathe in the direction of the knob, it tends to wait to really scald or freeze me until there is shampoo in my hair. That way it burns my eyes when I open them to do damage control. I step out of the shower, shaking like a chihuahua and towel off, I tend to use the same towel for a few days until the smell or mold gets to be unbearable, whichever grows first.
I awkwardly wriggle into whatever semblance of clothing I settled on, body still half wet from being too lazy to dry off properly. I went through about 5 different outfits trying to pick one for the day, they didn't gradually improve, I just hated them for different reasons. I rub tea tree oil pomade into my hair, this is my American Psycho moment, massage gently and evenly amidst my frenzied follicles. I put some sad effort into styling my hair, eventually I just get it going in the same direction and give up.
At this point I have graduated from stumbling, now I lurch loathing toward the kitchen and tremble at the small army of pill bottles lining the counter. All in order in rank and formation, at some point I decided I desperately needed the nutrients from each of these to survive. If I want to improve my survival rate, I should probably stay off my phone while I drive, but I am masterful at cognitive dissonance. So trusting heavily in my past judgment I decide not to take any of them, dry swallow 5000 IUs of Vitamin D with whatever saliva I could whip up and decide I will get the rest of my nutrients from a banana that I am going to be too lazy to eat.
I grab the lunch box my Grandma graciously filled with food the night before and I grab the essentials off of my dresser. Knife, wallet, keys, phone, matches, and some condoms that are in no danger of being used anytime today. Be prepared.
The most startling part comes next. This is when I unlock the deadbolt and swing the door wide open, well I try to but I forget that the chain always gets locked at night. The door quakes violently and threatens to rip the chain out of the frame.
The chain fiasco provides momentary relief from the icy blast of pre dawn air that just cut right through my clothes. It feels like chilled battery acid being poured on my skin. I shiver my way across the frosty driveway, doing my best not to fall and fumble with my keys until I get my car started. Fuck, I didn't lock the deadbolt. Turn off the car, run back to the house, okay the door is locked. I grab my icy scraper and cut two holes in the frost of my windshield roughly the diameter of fishing line.
I am getting ready to leave, put the car in reverse and get turned around. Damn it, I forgot to open the gate. I climb out of my car once more and fiddle with the frosty metal until finally it releases. I swing it too hard in my annoyance and it hits the bush and drifts right into the middle of the driveway. I fix that and take off.
By now my breath is only kind of visible in my car. I take off down the road, listening to some audiobook about science or life. I always wait until I pass 288th Street because that's when the air is finally warm.
I call it my mourning ritual for a reason. So if I smile at you and say good morning before 10 A.M., hell before noon, realize I must think quite a lot of you.
Hello Steemit! My name is Jonathan Turnick
I am a writer and poet based in the Pacific Northwest of the United States
This is the place to access all of my work, I post my latest and greatest here first! I love sharing with the vibrant community here!
Here is a picture so you can put a face to the name, don't judge my highly contrived selfie too much!
Very good post!
And I love singing!Listen my song!
https://steemit.com/ukrainiansong/@bugavi/i-am-singing-ukrainian-song-in-bethlehem-today-a-news