Stream of Unconscious

Often I wake in the middle of the night with thoughts and visions that must be written. A lot of it may seem like mere rambling, but I am a born writer; I need to see what happens to my words once they stare back at me from the pages of my computer screen. Since I am ususally more than half-asleep when this happens, I jokingly entitled the original document: "Stream of Unconscious." Now that I am finally starting to publish in a blog (as so many people have suggested I should do!), I thought the title remained appropriate.

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

A Day in the Life of Me

My thoughts are scattered everywhere this morning. I’ve worked a lot, and I was hoping to have a day to sleep in, but as you can see, have not had any luck.

7:20AM: My manager calls to ask if I can come in to work early. I’m not supposed to have to go to work until 2:00, so I’m pretty happy to be awakened at 7:20. I curse at the still-ringing phone and yell: “No, I will not go in early!!!” to the empty room. I lie back down grumpily; eventually I drift off again.

9:06AM: My sleepy brain ponders the fact that someone is knocking at the door. If I ignore them, they will go away, Sleepy Brain explains. Sounds good to me. Two seconds later, the phone rings again. My landlord (and friend), very cheerful, amused at Sleepy Brain. Oh, right. I forgot the Exterminator is coming at 9:00. That explains the knocking. “Will he care if I’m in my pajamas?” Much laughter on the other end of the line.

9:17ish: Another knock at the door. The Exterminator. I walk to the door, picturing an overweight man in his 40’s, who probably won’t be much for conversation, and probably has a gazillion daughters, and therefore won’t mind the PJs, or the mess. Open the door. Blonde dude, probably 22, looks at me awkwardly and comes inside. Surveys the boxes and piles of junk everywhere. “You just moved in?” he says. “Yes,” I say. Two months ago. Crap, why couldn’t I have just put on some jeans? We try to make small talk, while he squirts poison around my apartment with a miniature chrome vacuum. I ponder the fact that roaches survive nuclear radiation… so what kind of stuff does it take to actually kill them?

9:25: Exterminator leaves. He tells me not to have too much fun. I wonder if he thinks I had a wild party and that’s how my place got to be such a mess? Nope. Did this all by myself. I consider cleaning up a bit. Instead, I get online and look for jobs.

10:30: Make some coffee. Try not to breathe in roach poison. Try to ignore coughing. Decide to blog about morning excursions for other’s amusement. Haven’t called my manager back. Not planning on going in early. The four hours I have to stand in the fitting room will be enough for one day. Ponder my limited job options. Read other people’s blogs at random. Find a girl who’s writing about all her experiences overseas this summer. Apparently she found a way to afford to go overseas and write. Still embarrassed about the pajamas. Wish I were overseas writing about excursions. What am I supposed to do with my life?

10:41: Get up to get a cup of coffee. Discover I’m out of creamer. Not going to the store to buy some, because I’m leaving tomorrow for Charleston (woohoo!). Also, my milk is expired. No cereal for me. Come back to write some more, drinking Kenya roast black. Bleh. Not bad with creamer, though. I still like Guatemala roast, which got left in Greenville.

I should probably shower and start getting ready for work. Maybe I’ll go in an hour early, make a little more money. Save for overseas excursions someday. Too bad Peace Corps doesn’t do Europe.

I’ll try to write more tonight.

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