Ten Stages of a Monday Morning

Stage 1: Grrr.  Who set my alarm clock, anyway?

 

Stage 2: Perhaps the furnace will turn itself on if I exert enough mind power.

 

Stage 3: Why didn't I get a job in Salt Lake?  Corresponding trail of philosophical career-related musings, further delaying leaving my warm bed.

 

Stage 4: Fine.  I'll move!!  But I refuse to be happy about it.

 

Stage 5: Where's my towel?  Where's my washrag?  Where's my shampoo?  Where's my body wash?  Why must I be so very blind and also very tired, with the blurriness multiplying the blindness . . .?

 

Stage 6: Where did all of my clean clothes go?  Is it legit to wear red solid with gray pants that have blue and white stripes?  Will anyone notice?  Why do I care?

 

Stage 7: Perhaps, if my roommate and I did our dishes more often, we wouldn't find ourselves washing dishes at every meal.  This seems like a novel concept at the moment, but I won't want to do dishes once I get back to the apartment.

 

Stage 8: How is it possible that I can never find the shoes I want?  Until I trip over them, hitting my leg against the corner of my desk, such that I can feel the bruises beginning to formm.

 

Stage 9: I should seriously be losing calories for all of the times I make it halfway out of my apartment building and then remember something I've forgotten.  And roommate wonders why I leave almost fifteen minutes before the train arrives . . .

 

Stage 10: Sleep, sleep, sleep.  Walk into work.  Freeze, freeze, freeze.