Typical Morning for the Typical Writer

You know the scene: unkempt, out of shape hairy dude sits down in front of keyboard, stretches arms, scratches armpits, cracks neck, twists back. Gets up, grabs bag of chips, devours bag of chips, cracks knuckles, pecks away at keyboard. Two words later—gets up, opens refrigerator, stares blankly at selection, reaches for bottle of water, slides bottle of water aside in favor of healthier caffeine loaded and sugar coated soft drink, plops crack-showing butt back down. Deletes two previous words, yawns, guzzles soda, throws can at wastebasket—misses—leans over, belches, chubby fingers barely grasp empty can, leans out more, farts, chair slides out. A skinned bottom and a bruised ego later, crushes can with fury of a two hundred-twenty pound gorilla squashing a banana. Chucks crushed can at wall, cools down, returns to computer screen, yawns...again, rubs aching knees, stares at TV. Drags weary feet over to comfy sofa, picks up remote—no batteries! Storms into kitchen, tears apart every drawer until two AA batteries turn up in the exact spot wife had said they’d be. Stomps back over and jams batteries into remote—won’t fit—needs AAA batteries.

Slams fist, searches kitchen for twenty minutes, no batteries. Drives to convenient store, purchases AAA batteries, drives home. Shoves batteries in remote, hits power button, DVD player activates. Brings remote to eye level, confirms batteries in wrong remote, searches everywhere—under sofa, in between cushions, on counter tops and shelves for TV remote. Finally realizes TV has an actual power button. Hems, haws, and turns TV on. Sappy romance appears. Panic sets in, satellite remote lost. Pulse races, fast, shallow breathing starts, sweat pours down face, shirt drenched—Aha! Satellite receiver has a channel button—pulse and breathing slows. Presses channel button, turns on sports channel, plops onto comfy sofa. No picture! TV screen flashes message “channel not available, please contact satellite provider. Chucks remote at 46” HD TV—misses—luckily, lays head on pillow, falls asleep. Phone rings. Gets up, answers “hello.” Nobody there. Hangs up, lies on couch. Phone rings. Gets up, answers “hello” and hears a click. Hangs up, lies back down. Phone rings. Gets up and answers “HELLO!”

“Why are you answering the phone instead of writing?” Mom asks.

Now you know how my morning went. Can’t wait for the afternoon.