Friday, July 03, 2015

even my coffee cup is boring or you can't make a silk purse of a sow's ear

~ click image to make biggerer ~

The prompt for today is to write about my day and make it interesting. Oh, yeah, that’s gonna happen. Here’s my day:

I wake up.
I drink coffee.
I get dressed.
I go to work.
I come home.
I go to bed.

Exciting. Yes? No!

How do you make a boring life not boring? Talk about an uphill climb. We weren’t talking about hills or climbing, but let’s move on.

My bladder is so painfully full. I don’t want to wake up but I can’t make the pressure go away and I can’t ignore it. I crack open one eye to peek at the clock. Even though I use my smart phone as an alarm, I keep an old fashioned alarm clock on my bedside table. It has large LED numbers so I can see it in the dark without my glasses. I need the reassurance of being grounded in linear time when I wake up in with a panic attack. Seeing the time helps me calm down and remember I’m not dying.

I stumble out of bed, grumbling at the aches in my joints. I make it to the toilet just before I lose control. The relief is like an orgasm.

It’s four in the morning and I’m wide awake.

I brew my first cup of coffee, black and strong. Jet fuel for a mind and body that needs a jolt first thing in the morning to even begin to function. I’m working mostly on autopilot right now. Habit and routine working in my favor. I fill my ever present water bottle with ice. Hot coffee and ice water. They are all I need for the first two hours of my day. I gulp down twenty ounces of cold water with my high blood pressure pill and my cholesterol medicine.

At this point, I start to worry about what I will write for my first 500 words of the day. I have nothing to say. I’m a boring idiot who should just keep my mouth shut. Do the world a favor and go hide in a corner somewhere. Shut the fuck up. I’m going to do this regardless of how pathetic and ridiculous you think this is. I have to or I am going to die.

There’s about an hour of this lovely self talk interspersed with moments of zoning out to relieve some of the pressure and pain of my inadequacies. It’s hard working reminding myself I might have some value. It takes lots of energy fighting depressive thoughts. I’m exhausted and I haven’t even done anything yet.

There’s distracting behavior involved. I’ve found that numbers and patterns are my friends.

Friend or Follow - unfollow anyone who stopped following me
Libra Horoscope - scoff at the ridiculousness
Bank Account - no one has stolen from me during the night
Twitter - yay, another follower
Facebook - the meme’s are taking over
Emails - junk, junk, read later, junk, junk, junk
Pack the lunch boxes and get another cup of coffee - this requires that I move. I bitch and moan in my head about how bad I have it. I should have been born rich so I can have a servant hand feed me strawberries.

It’s now six am.


  1. My life is both boring and horrendously stressful. I have money troubles, car troubles, and I'm exceedingly worried about my son's depression and agoraphobia. There are many things that make me terribly sad. I retreat to the world of my imagination where I am a successful manager for a band of lunatics and anything can and will happen.
    I check the stats on my blogs. I have quite a few people who read my posts but nobody ever comments. The number of readers is baffling to me seeing as I don't allow search engine bots to spider my blogs. The lack of comments is a double-edged sword. It's both a relief and a pity. It's a relief because I'm glad no-one has said anything rude, which would disrupt me completely. It's a pity because I remember the days when there was this little group who commented on each other's work and we had such fun. Those days are long gone, but I still miss them.

  2. I've decided not to worry about views or comments. When I think about readers, it affects my writing not in a good way.