Twenty seconds before the alarm sounds, my eyes open. It's six a.m. and birds are singing a haphazard, obviously unrehearsed chorus. The sunlight bathes the room through a filter of new white sheers and puts a warm glow on my rested body which would be amazingly sexy, if my skin was tan, but maybe that's just a personal preference.
When the alarm sounds assorted voices battle for attention from the three different radio stations that are competing for this particular spot on the dial. The station could be tuned precisely to one station (as it was at one point) but the cacophony of English and Spanish is chaotic and unembraceable. But as I am already awake, the effect is wasted, so the snooze button is hit.
There is nothing more annoying than those that wake up with a burst of energy. And, being annoying, I first go to the kitchen to have a glass of water along with a fish-oil pill and mega-man b-plus vitamin, grabbing my cell phone along the way.
Downing the water and pills, text messages and voicemail are checked. Not for work purposes, but to check the assorted drunken dialing of friends that can go out on Tuesday nights without impunity. For whatever reason, the majority of the people I know have less regimented schedules than me and can go out when the real fun is happening, or at least that is how it seems to me.
One text message is a response to a message that I barely remember sending during lunch the day previous, which forces me to wonder about that friend's commitment to new technologies. One voice mail from a friend with an upcoming performance is stated in rushed and overexcited terms is deleted about a quarter of the way into the message. It's not that I'm a bad friend; it's just that he called me three days ago telling me all of this same information. My second message is a friend making fart noises for 45 seconds, but, in case there is more information at the end of the call, I continue to listen. But it's just fart noises.
Next to the e-mail. Thank god someone out bid me on the Siamese Cat television lamp. The glowing eyes appealed to a drunken me on a recent night but upon further review they just were not going to play well in my reboot of the apartment. Meanwhile my other two auctions (which won't be shared with you as no one is to be trusted with this information) should be finishing my lighting needs soon. In other e-mail, Ken's parents used to own the same style sofa that now graces my livingroom, there are ample opportunities for me to purchase Viagra, and I have won yet another European e-mail lottery.
End Part One.
