I wake up each day. This in itself is a big deal. Still breathing, still able to make toast and apply deodorant (not to my toast, though). The routine that begins my day is ultra simple. I find the alarm clock and attempt to destroy it. My alarm clock is a form of Dalek, hell-bent on destroying humanity by playing the worst possible music at the precise moment in which I’ve finally began to sleep peacefully. Most mornings, our local d.j. plays the kind of music that I appreciate at 4:00 in the afternoon. Around 4:30 or 5:00 in the morning, certain 70’s rock songs seize my prostate and make me leap from the bed to shut them off (and un-seize my…never mind). The alarm clock keeps switching back to that station out of evil spite. Once up and untangled from the laundry pile that reaches out and grabs hold of my ankles in an effort to drag me into the quicksand of unwashed clothing, I thank God. The night has been survived, classic rock is mercifully shut off and I only lost my pajamas to the laundry (and not a limb).
I was in a decidedly unthankful mood this morning and worked on my attitude toward God and the world. In the darkness, I’d pulled a shirt off the closet rack and attempted to be cheerful in ironing it. There was a reason why this particular dress shirt was never worn. The shirt came from the Old Coast Guard outlet store and is made from some sort of space age material not conducive to primitive ironing techniques. Space age is what we used to call material that was good enough to be worn in outer space, but too dorky looking for terrestrial dwellers. I remembered that the shirt was one referred to only as “The Illicit Affair Oxford.” Not that I’ve ever had an affair, but the spacey material makes a distinct sound. A sort of rustling noise like the sheets do in a movie about cheating lovers. Oh, sure. You can concentrate on the beautiful couples and hot, dangerous romance , thinking about 50 shades of yippee all the while. Not me. I’m into the Foley movie sound effects. Just the right balance of quality sheet music is what really sets the mood. I’m all about production values. My dress shirt today possesed all of those fine linen sounds. Unfortunately, I type about 80% of the day. I was having an affair with myself and quite a loud, passionate one, judging by the sheet shirt.
This post was about thankfulness though. I thank God in all things. I’m thankful that I can go to work each morning with my rusting clothes. I’m thankful that as I walk down the halls at my job, half asleep and with laundry clutching my ankles that people look at me with a sort of odd respect. Like I’m having a noisy liaison. I am thankful that I’m working and putting away a little for retirement. A time when I can sleep in and enjoy quiet, shirtless Mondays.
Like many failed bloggers, I aspire to be a novelist. Some persistent voice in my mind shouts at me to write as if my life depends on it. No, I’m not actually hearing voices and the persistent encouragement may be the result of too much Sudafed (mmm…cold medicine). Every now and then one of the creative mash-ups that appear on these pages shows promise. A reader from Argentina mentioned that I’m funny (looking). During my college days, I imagined myself as a poet. One girl I gave original poetry to stopped taking my pizza order long enough to go and show my work to her manager. Sure, I’m banned from Pizza Hut in every state (except Alabama), but that just prompted me to learn to make pizza. While mowing the lawn, I thought of a list of life experiences that would be beneficial to my future career as a novelist. The neighbors were kind enough to give the mower back after it propelled itself through their roses. Qualifications:
- I’ve previously worked naked (not in the film industry. I was a dish washer).
- Good with titles. For instance, if the novel involved lawn care, I’d call it 5o Shades of Brown.
- knowledgeable about
romance love cheeses of the world.
- Formerly a dashing man of international intrigue. Well, I’ve been to Canada.
- Great at putting words together in a way that simultaneously inspires rage and boredom.
- I enjoy books. My favorite is the comic book version of Burn Baby Burn.
- Wrote speeches for previous President George W. Bush. Needless to say, he never used them. Who can tell the difference, though?
- Have flair for describing gritty, realistic life situations. Once such situation might involve a dark, stormy night on which my dog went pee in my shoe. Then again, maybe not.
- I write in the same way I speak. Oh, wait. Neither of those are strong selling points. I may have to return to washing dishes.