There's a four-thirty in the morning now?
Today, as I lay in bed and contemplated if I really wanted to get up, knowing I was living on an earth where I had to watch the Capitals break their own record for the NHL's longest shootout and then lose in it again, I considered my weekday morning routine.
I used to use a radio alarm clock that had two options for waking: the radio and the standard screechy alarm noise. I hate alarm noises. Seriously hate 'em. I wake up flailing and panicked, reacting wildly and without rationality. "WHAT?! NO!! THINGS?! NO!! DON'T LIKE!! NO!!" And when you travel for work and stay in hotels, none of the damn radio alarms are the same, and then I stress over whether or not I set them right, and I wind myself up to the point where I inevitably wake up every hour on the hour out of nerves. (Plus, I always feel weird asking the hotel for a wake-up call, and it's just as jarring as the alarm.)
So for a long time, I used the radio wake setting, until the reception became less and less reliable and I was waking up to random static blasts. This of course led to me waking up with the (not illogical) horror that I was in Silent Hill and Pyramid Head was about to lurch out from somewhere and ice me, so I started using my phone alarm, which had a variety of soothing spa-like noises that I could sub in for the alarm noise. That was workable, until I worked out I could just load some mp3s on my phone and wake myself up with... other music.
ThorneScratch: I am tired of waking up to R.E.M. as my alarm tone. Time to change it.
Horizon Greene: oh good lord. which song?
ThorneScratch: It's a tough choice. I need something loud and energetic enough to wake me, but not obnoxious enough to make me want to kill everything in a five foot radius. Something that makes me want to face the day, and that I won't start having terrible associations with because of hearing every morning.
...in retrospect, "Bad Day" was probably a bad choice.
Horizon Greene: ................oh good lord. yes. yes it was.
ThorneScratch: Well, I mean. "Bad Day" is very upbeat for being about, well, a bad day. And it has this kind of alarm clock sound near the begining which is one of the reasons I used it. But it's time for a change. Hmm. "Bulls on Parade" is also not going to get the job done.
Oh man. I could switch it to "Dragula" and give myself a heart attack every morning. "Stronger" could work but I just don't think I can face Kanye every morning at 6:00 am.
Horizon Greene: oh god. no. that seems like a bad idea.
ThorneScratch: Okay. Like, which of these is the WORST idea:
Modest Mouse - Float On
T-Rex - Get it On Bang A Gong
Green Day - I Fought The Law
LMFAO - Party RockAnthem
(probably that one)
Stroke 9 - Kick Some Ass
Horizon Greene: agreed. it's so LMFAO. it's irrelevant what the other options are.
Currently, I wake up to Modest Mouse's "Float On."
I turn off the alarm; I get out of bed; I go into the bathroom and piss. (I could use a euphemism, but why bother?) Then I stare into the mirror and figure out if I'm still angry, happy, annoyed, sad, or whatever from whatever I was dwelling on before I fell asleep, and why. This usually takes a minute or two because I have spectacular morning amnesia, and could probably not even swear to my own name and occupation for the first ten minutes or so of my morning. If you are my enemy, this is probably your prime time to strike at me, just saying.
If it's a day I'm going to bother to wear makeup, I rub various goops on my face (two for the eyes and a general moisturizer), and I tie my hair back in a bun. Then comes deodorant, under the big shirt I use to sleep in. All told, this is about five minutes in the bathroom
Back out to the bedroom then. I make the bed because I have a strict policy on that. If I'm not in the bed, the bed has to be made. I start on the right side, and then move around to the left. When on the left side of the bed, I open the window blinds but leave the curtains drawn. Back around to the other side of the room.
Clothes go on. I usually have those laid out the night before. I hate having to decide in the morning. No shoes yet. Making the bed and getting dressed takes between six to ten minutes, depending on what I'm wearing.
Back into the bathroom. Makeup then, if I'm using it. The order is always: Eyeshadow base, under eye concealer base, eyebrows, eyeshadow, top liner, under eye concealer, powder to set that, blush, and mascara if I can make myself do it without poking myself in the eye. Makeup usually takes about twelve to fifteen minutes.
Off to my computer in my office then. Quick check of personal email and work email, just to make sure nothing is urgent. Quick rundown of a couple sites I always check. I used to eat cereal while I did this, but I've stopped eating breakfast at home as often, and now I tend to eat at the office. This gets about ten minutes.
Back to the bathroom, so I can brush my teeth. My shoes are almost always in my office, so I tend to go back there while brushing, fumble them on so I can still dick around on the internet, and then go back to the bathroom to spit and rinse. Take my hair out of the bun, swipe at it with a brush once or twice. Five minutes.
Downstairs. I pack my lunch the night before. I really just have to put on my coat, pick up my purse, my office bag, and my keys, and walk out the door. All told, from the time I get up to the time I get in my car is usually between thirty to forty five minutes, since various parts of the routine-- mostly makeup and breakfast-- get dropped or trimmed. accordingly. I very rarely deviate from my routine.
I'm writing this because I was reading a poem I love--
I Go Back To The House For A Book
I turn around on the gravel
and go back to the house for a book,
something to read at the doctor’s office,
and while I am inside, running the finger
of inquisition along a shelf,
another me that did not bother
to go back to the house for a book
heads out on his own,
rolls down the driveway,
and swings left toward town,
a ghost in his ghost car,
another knot in the string of time,
a good three minutes ahead of me-
a spacing that will now continue
for the rest of my life.
Sometimes I think I see him
a few people in front of me on a line
or getting up from a table
to leave the restaurant just before I do,
slipping into his coat on the way out the door.
But there is no catching him,
no way to slow him down
and put us back in synch,
unless one day he decides to go back
to the house for something,
but I cannot imagine
for the life of me what that might be.
He is out there always before me,
blazing my trail, invisible scout,
hound that pulls me along,
shade I am doomed to follow,
my perfect double,
only bumped an inch into the future,
and not nearly as well-versed as I
in the love poems of Ovid-
I who went back to the house
that fateful winter morning and got the book.
And this morning I had to go back to the house for the present for my office's holiday gift exchange. So it all felt kind of relevant.
It occurs to me there is some Thorne out there who said "fuck it," to going back and getting her office present, drove off, skipped work, and is now living it up in Mexico, doing body shots off hookers and hanging out with a super smart parrot. Or possibly, a Thorne who went back into the house, decided not to go back to her car and go to work, and went back to bed and didn't wake up again until 3:00 pm.
I wonder if she is happier than me.
I have to shower and take the garbage out and dry my hair before I can go to bed, three things that seem terribly difficult to do for some reason. Surely there are versions of me out there who are doing that efficiently and may already even be in bed, with a clean body, tresses, and conscience. But they didn't write this journal entry.
I used to use a radio alarm clock that had two options for waking: the radio and the standard screechy alarm noise. I hate alarm noises. Seriously hate 'em. I wake up flailing and panicked, reacting wildly and without rationality. "WHAT?! NO!! THINGS?! NO!! DON'T LIKE!! NO!!" And when you travel for work and stay in hotels, none of the damn radio alarms are the same, and then I stress over whether or not I set them right, and I wind myself up to the point where I inevitably wake up every hour on the hour out of nerves. (Plus, I always feel weird asking the hotel for a wake-up call, and it's just as jarring as the alarm.)
So for a long time, I used the radio wake setting, until the reception became less and less reliable and I was waking up to random static blasts. This of course led to me waking up with the (not illogical) horror that I was in Silent Hill and Pyramid Head was about to lurch out from somewhere and ice me, so I started using my phone alarm, which had a variety of soothing spa-like noises that I could sub in for the alarm noise. That was workable, until I worked out I could just load some mp3s on my phone and wake myself up with... other music.
ThorneScratch: I am tired of waking up to R.E.M. as my alarm tone. Time to change it.
Horizon Greene: oh good lord. which song?
ThorneScratch: It's a tough choice. I need something loud and energetic enough to wake me, but not obnoxious enough to make me want to kill everything in a five foot radius. Something that makes me want to face the day, and that I won't start having terrible associations with because of hearing every morning.
...in retrospect, "Bad Day" was probably a bad choice.
Horizon Greene: ................oh good lord. yes. yes it was.
ThorneScratch: Well, I mean. "Bad Day" is very upbeat for being about, well, a bad day. And it has this kind of alarm clock sound near the begining which is one of the reasons I used it. But it's time for a change. Hmm. "Bulls on Parade" is also not going to get the job done.
Oh man. I could switch it to "Dragula" and give myself a heart attack every morning. "Stronger" could work but I just don't think I can face Kanye every morning at 6:00 am.
Horizon Greene: oh god. no. that seems like a bad idea.
ThorneScratch: Okay. Like, which of these is the WORST idea:
Modest Mouse - Float On
T-Rex - Get it On Bang A Gong
Green Day - I Fought The Law
LMFAO - Party RockAnthem
(probably that one)
Stroke 9 - Kick Some Ass
Horizon Greene: agreed. it's so LMFAO. it's irrelevant what the other options are.
Currently, I wake up to Modest Mouse's "Float On."
I turn off the alarm; I get out of bed; I go into the bathroom and piss. (I could use a euphemism, but why bother?) Then I stare into the mirror and figure out if I'm still angry, happy, annoyed, sad, or whatever from whatever I was dwelling on before I fell asleep, and why. This usually takes a minute or two because I have spectacular morning amnesia, and could probably not even swear to my own name and occupation for the first ten minutes or so of my morning. If you are my enemy, this is probably your prime time to strike at me, just saying.
If it's a day I'm going to bother to wear makeup, I rub various goops on my face (two for the eyes and a general moisturizer), and I tie my hair back in a bun. Then comes deodorant, under the big shirt I use to sleep in. All told, this is about five minutes in the bathroom
Back out to the bedroom then. I make the bed because I have a strict policy on that. If I'm not in the bed, the bed has to be made. I start on the right side, and then move around to the left. When on the left side of the bed, I open the window blinds but leave the curtains drawn. Back around to the other side of the room.
Clothes go on. I usually have those laid out the night before. I hate having to decide in the morning. No shoes yet. Making the bed and getting dressed takes between six to ten minutes, depending on what I'm wearing.
Back into the bathroom. Makeup then, if I'm using it. The order is always: Eyeshadow base, under eye concealer base, eyebrows, eyeshadow, top liner, under eye concealer, powder to set that, blush, and mascara if I can make myself do it without poking myself in the eye. Makeup usually takes about twelve to fifteen minutes.
Off to my computer in my office then. Quick check of personal email and work email, just to make sure nothing is urgent. Quick rundown of a couple sites I always check. I used to eat cereal while I did this, but I've stopped eating breakfast at home as often, and now I tend to eat at the office. This gets about ten minutes.
Back to the bathroom, so I can brush my teeth. My shoes are almost always in my office, so I tend to go back there while brushing, fumble them on so I can still dick around on the internet, and then go back to the bathroom to spit and rinse. Take my hair out of the bun, swipe at it with a brush once or twice. Five minutes.
Downstairs. I pack my lunch the night before. I really just have to put on my coat, pick up my purse, my office bag, and my keys, and walk out the door. All told, from the time I get up to the time I get in my car is usually between thirty to forty five minutes, since various parts of the routine-- mostly makeup and breakfast-- get dropped or trimmed. accordingly. I very rarely deviate from my routine.
I'm writing this because I was reading a poem I love--
I Go Back To The House For A Book
I turn around on the gravel
and go back to the house for a book,
something to read at the doctor’s office,
and while I am inside, running the finger
of inquisition along a shelf,
another me that did not bother
to go back to the house for a book
heads out on his own,
rolls down the driveway,
and swings left toward town,
a ghost in his ghost car,
another knot in the string of time,
a good three minutes ahead of me-
a spacing that will now continue
for the rest of my life.
Sometimes I think I see him
a few people in front of me on a line
or getting up from a table
to leave the restaurant just before I do,
slipping into his coat on the way out the door.
But there is no catching him,
no way to slow him down
and put us back in synch,
unless one day he decides to go back
to the house for something,
but I cannot imagine
for the life of me what that might be.
He is out there always before me,
blazing my trail, invisible scout,
hound that pulls me along,
shade I am doomed to follow,
my perfect double,
only bumped an inch into the future,
and not nearly as well-versed as I
in the love poems of Ovid-
I who went back to the house
that fateful winter morning and got the book.
And this morning I had to go back to the house for the present for my office's holiday gift exchange. So it all felt kind of relevant.
It occurs to me there is some Thorne out there who said "fuck it," to going back and getting her office present, drove off, skipped work, and is now living it up in Mexico, doing body shots off hookers and hanging out with a super smart parrot. Or possibly, a Thorne who went back into the house, decided not to go back to her car and go to work, and went back to bed and didn't wake up again until 3:00 pm.
I wonder if she is happier than me.
I have to shower and take the garbage out and dry my hair before I can go to bed, three things that seem terribly difficult to do for some reason. Surely there are versions of me out there who are doing that efficiently and may already even be in bed, with a clean body, tresses, and conscience. But they didn't write this journal entry.