Augustin Burchell
Morning Routine
AH!-brupt jolt into consciousness. Subconscious-worn, somehow once-not-awful tune played form the same source at the same time every morning. Let’s try again in twenty.
Twenty went quick. Groggy gaze and not-so-quick quick arithmetic to reveal the inconvenient truth. No more time to snooze, relax. Time to get up, get going, get out of bed, get in the shower, get on some clothes, get some grub, tea, get to class, got to GET OUT OF BED! Eventually, I’m sure.
Unbudgetted 7 minutes later, plans in action. Nude embrace of cold morning followed by cold water then — fucking FINALLY — warm water, hot water. Not a second too late.
Not a second to spare. Out of the shower. Hair dried. Body dried. Product applied. Brush teeth, little video by the side, just something to pass the time — no time!
Kettle boiling, enough water for two. Some oatmeal — Quaker brand golden jar holding the manna — and a cup o’ Joe, except this time the cup o’ joe is a cup of green tea because coffee makes me feel gittery and queazy and honestly, my digestive tract doesn’t need another enemy right now, like tbh my stool is more of a pool right now, tmi I know, but you get the point. And we’re out of the door and on the road.
Fuck this function, n minues to walk n+6 minutes away, this routine is continuous, discretely trying to run-walk along my way. Get outta here old lady, I’ve got places to be! A considerate “Excuse me” and cordial smile as I politely pass her.
Finally here. To the building to the class to my chair, bag down. A quick glance to the clock.
Five minutes late.
Just on time.