My Morning Constitutional

No alarm rings to get me out of bed.  I could never understand why people would want to be brought back to consciousness by a loud sound that in a state of half wakefulness could brings to mind a smoke detector, a school buzzer or an air raid siren.  Somehow I wake up at about the same time every morning -- with a little help from my cat jumping on my dresser and knocking glass objects on the floor in an attempt to tell me she was ready to eat.

Once out of bed, I run to the bathroom, throw water on my face, put on my sneakers and head for the door.

Keeping to an exercise routine takes commitment and time -- so I guess I'm already behind the eight ball there.  I wear my workout clothes to bed each night to reduce the risk that the thought of getting dressed will be reason enough for me to skip my walk.

I wrestle with my conscience (which I consider exercise in itself) -- imagining myself gaining 10 pounds, having to buy larger clothes and not being able to eat what I like during the day because I'm counting calories..  I'm an eclectic eater -- one day an order of french fries and ice cream is my lunch of choice.  Other days, I'll eat one of those frozen steamer bags of brussels sprouts all by myself with a bottle of Naked Spirulina drink.  Talk about needing simethicone and a larger waistband...

Heading down the driveway, I think about plugging my ears with music -- half for the beat to keep my pace from falling to the speed of the government processing my tax return and half to block out the sound of the traffic along my morning route.  But today I choose to listen to walk without them in an attempt to hear some of the more pleasant sounds of Spring.

When Spring comes around, when others anticipate the beauty of tulips and daffodils, I wait to see the young maple leaves turn into skeletal versions of their former selves falling apart to the rhythmic sound of caterpillar poop falling from the sky.  May showers don't bring Spring flowers in my neighborhood -- they bring tar colored slop onto the pavement -- turning walkways into a quagmire of banana peel like surfaces -- hazardous to postal workers and UPS delivery people everywhere.

I make my way through the traffic, avoiding the small, green worms hanging from the trees by silken strings -- creating the effect of a hideous chandelier.  The breeze brings with it an odd combination of lilacs and cat urine (the smell of the wet caterpillar excrement).  Families walk past me with worms in their hair and kids flailing their arms over their head in an attempt to ward off the inchworms and crying, "Watch out lady!  There's bugs in that tree!"

Potholes are everywhere.  Small mounds of asphalt crumbs and road substrate from the Revolutionary War make its way to the surface through these endless caverns in the road. Each small rock around the crater finds its way into the ridges in the bottom of my sneakers. I know these spaces are meant to help walkers grip the ground, but mine help my shoes turn into Fred Flintstone's roller skates. Every step adds new stones to my shoes making it sound like I'm wearing golf shoes by the time I take my final turn back into my driveway.

The last moments of my relaxing morning constitutional are used to remove the twenty rocks from the bottom of my shoes with my house key and carefully pick all the worms from my hair using my warped reflection in the storm door.  One final swig from my water bottle and I'm ready to face my day.

What day is today?  Oh great.  I forgot I have a conference call with our China factory at 9:00.  I'm going to be late.  What about my Egg McMuffin?

Maximus Distracticus...a blog for the distracted mind

So one day I decided that I'd chronicle some of my days, encounters, opinions and fractured thoughts to share with others that struggle with focusing, commitment and finishing anything.  I set up my Blogger page....and it sat there, and sat there with no posts.  I had a book I needed to finish because it was already late to the library, about 10 half-finished work projects, and some viewing of brain-numbing Disney XD to squeeze into the four hours I have available when I get home from work and before I climb into bed.

So now I'm sitting at my family's community computer.  I hear the TV in the kitchen, my Mom watching Fox News, I hear the constant cha-ching noise of my nephew's phone as competitive bids come in for a Loki figure he has on eBay and my sister yelling across the house questioning what is happening on the news in response to a tiny tidbit of information she heard make its way through the wall.  I might as well be sitting in Grand Central Station trying to write the next great novel.  Focus...focus...focus.

What do I write about?  Maybe my latest business trip to Chicago...filled with a million strange observations at Midway Airport...like the man sleeping on the floor at the gate with his dirty white taped up feet and stretchy abstract patterned pants that weren't quite covering his backside.  The pungent odor of a needed yearly bath very obvious...and my praying that this guy wouldn't get on the plane and choose to sit next to me -- one of the bad and good points of flying Southwest.  What can you do when you get on a plane and someone sits next to you that stinks?  Can you complain to the flight attendant and ask to be moved.  What if there are no more seats, can you get a smelly passenger refund?  Surprisingly enough, there may a "body odor" clause in your ticket fine print.  It was funny watching from across the gate area as different people moved into the only available standing space -- next to the odiferous man on the floor -- sniff the air, try to decide where the smell came from, look down at the exposed back end crack at the top of the 80's style stretchy pants, and move across the room to fresher air.

Maybe I could write about the computerized beverage machine at the noodles restaurant that I had to help three other patrons with so that they could get their soda before their noodles turned into a brick. Did you want zero calorie, no caffeine, extra caffeine, fruit flavor, no flavor, no bubbles...how do I just get plain water?  I give up...I'll just use the iced tea urn.

What about the white stretch limo at the hotel everyday carrying one passenger -- what looked to be a computer nerd from India -- from the hotel to some unknown destination and back again every day.  The door opening on the limo and a skinny pant leg emerging, followed by a plaid shirt decorated with an official looking access badge hanging from the breast pocket.  Ah, Ramesh, please bring up the car.  I need to get to the SAP integration team meeting before Krishma completes the program modifications in the OTC and IMWM module.  Stop by Starbucks.  I need to get my morning qahwah and girda (coffee and toast).

So I still haven't decided on how I will write in my blog.  Maybe I'll wait until tomorrow to come up with an idea.  Yes, I'll have chocolate ice cream tonight please....  You go ahead and take your shower first.