a day in the life . . .


I wrote this for my writing group. It was supposed to be about joy, but turned out to be about the lack thereof . . .

_____

The sunlamp turns on at 09:00; I roll away from it.

Fluffy hops onto the bed, abruptly crossing over me with pokey paws. He sits beside my head, making a squeaky, drawn out ‘meeee’, and then scrambles away as I backhand him.

Morning finally comes as I have to get up, well, I don’t ‘have to’ as much as I don’t prefer the alternative. I toss back the covers and stumble out of bed to the bathroom.

“Meeee.” He follows me to the kitchen.

Pick up plate, rinse off plate, grab tuna, spoon tuna on plate, return plate to floor . . . (Fluffy nibbles at it) . . . open coffee maker, remove grinds, insert filter, add coffee and water . . . (coffee maker grumbles to life) . . . butter the small pan, crack and scramble egg, fry egg, open grapefruit snack cup, drain and place on plate, flip egg, adding cheese, fold egg, remove from pan, place on plate, grab fork.

I take my time, savoring each bite. By then, the coffee maker is sputtering out its last drops. Ah, coffee . . . decaf, of course, to inhibit tension. I head back to the bedroom, if anything, to grab my cigarettes, electronic cigarettes, of course. I enjoy the spicy vapor rolling off my tongue.

I sit on the bed and turn on ‘The View’, but turn the volume down, too much cackling first thing in the morning, but I do enjoy the calm strength of Whoopi. Today’s guests are more reality show stars that I don’t know or give a fuck about. “Kendra sets the record straight about recent allegations of cheating”; no, Kendra just needs to stop whoring.

“Meeee.” This is when he starts scratching at the bed like it’s one big litter box and I’m a giant cat poop. I don’t know if that’s what he’s doing, but that’s how I take it. I get up and he sniffs where I sat, scratching. Ear bud, blue light, unplug. Phone, 100%, unplug. JOY, 30%, unplug. For some reason I only get a 30% charge out of it these days. I sit back on the bed to a “meeee.” I ruffle his head and he pins back his ears and purposely sinks his teeth into my hand, which is a sign of affection?

Facebook: Cathy’s made a few posts. Twitter: The ‘4 new tweets’ turn into 50, as Justin Bieber had a concert last night. Goodreads: Oh! One note and three updates. The note is about other groups bashing my group. This used to be fun before I got labeled ‘transphobic’. But hey, there’re some good posts about our BOOK CLUB book, and no one left the group last night. Yay . . . Email: Request for documents for the short sale. Request for documents for the student loan deferment. “Bill is now available”, “bill is now available”, and “don’t let your policy lapse!”

Oh! Time to flip over to Wendy Williams. I turn her up a bit, because she’s fun. Today’s guests are more reality show stars that I don’t know or give a fuck about. “Darnella sets the record straight about recent allegations of cheating”; no, Darnella just needs to stop whoring.

I crawl back into bed to Fluffy’s scratching.

*****

Crap! I’ve slept the day away again. I check my phone. Mortgage company called. Credit card company called. Facebook: Cathy’s made a few posts. Twitter: ‘10 new tweets’ as Trump’s on a tirade. Goodreads: No updates. JOY, still at 30%.

Fluffy’s sleeping now, curled up under the covered side table in the living room.

I might as well work out. I change into my shorts and turn on the old TV and the old Xbox. I select a thirty minute ‘flexibility’ workout, as I’m still stiff from yesterday. I grab a glass of ice tea, decaf, of course, and my cigarette. I take a few draws and sips.

March in place, step touch, kicks, side steps, march in place, step touch, kicks, side steps . . .

Double lunges, V-steps, skip up and back, (I mock skip, as the floors in this apartment are shit), double-lunges, V-steps, skip up and back . . .

Transition time, I take a few draws and sips.

Side crunches left, side crunches right, side crunches left, side crunches right . . .

Transition time, I take a few draws and sips.

Good. She’s got me on the floor today doing back stretches. By the time we’re done, I’m loose and limber. I take a hot shower and crawl back into bed. I sleep on and off through Ellen, Anderson, and the local news.

*****

Facebook: Cathy’s made a few posts. Twitter: A few random tweets. Goodreads: No updates. JOY, still at 30%.

Fluffy hops onto the bed, stepping around me to sit and stare at me. I ruffle his head. He follows me to the kitchen, not because he’s hungry but because he wants to play. As I prepare protein, vegetables, and carbohydrates, I pop out of the kitchen to chase him through the living room. I take my dinner back to the bedroom to eat while watching Diane Sawyer. With all that’s going on in the world today, we have a puff-piece about remodeling your spare room for rent. Mom, dad, teenage boy, teenage girl, and a complete stranger? Yeah, like that’ll work.

Facebook: Cathy’s made a few posts. Twitter: A few random tweets. Goodreads: No updates. JOY, still at 30%.

‘The Big Bang Theory’, I don’t really care for it but it’s on. I won’t watch ‘Two and a Half Men’ though, John Cryer freaks me the fuck out with his duck lips. I check the local listings, nothing’s on until ‘The Big Bang Theory’ again at 10:00. I put on reruns of ‘Star Trek the Next Generation’.

I row before it gets too late. I put on music and light (solo) porn. As the young man pretends to sleep, pretends to wake, and then pretends to enjoy pleasuring himself on camera, I stroke back and forth to the beat of the music. Twenty minutes later, I’m worked up, breathing heavy, and sweating, and the young man has a contented smile on his face. I take another shower and crawl back into bed.

Facebook: Cathy’s made a few posts. Twitter: A few random tweets. Goodreads: No updates. JOY, still at 30%.

I open a Word file, expand the subdocuments, and scroll to the end. A jumble of words need to be put together for the story to end. I stare at the words . . .

“Meeee.”

He sits beside the bed, staring up at me. A second ago, he was sound asleep curled up under the covered side table in the living room. I pat the bed but he doesn’t hop up. I stare at the words . . .

“Meeee.”

“Fine!” I get up and chase him into the living area, from under the table to under the tree, (I left the tree up, but took the decorations off, because he likes the tree), to the bedroom closet, to the living area . . . if I’m lucky he might play with a toy. When he’s done, (unresponsive), I give him some treats and head back to the bedroom in time for ‘The Big Bang Theory’. It’s a repeat. How many season of that show are in syndication? The same six episodes always seem to be on. I turn off the TV for the night.

Facebook: More active now! Bob’s ‘liked’ another weepy rescue pet ad. Both Marie and Donna posted pictures of their baby girls. Twitter: a few random tweets including Towleroad news, which I look forward to, but the news isn’t that interesting today, just anti-DOMA, anti-DOMA, and Neil Patrick Harris. Goodreads: No updates. JOY, now at 20%.

I ponder this as I close the Word file, the story untouched. It’s time to get settled into bed so I’m not up half the night. I don’t plug in my ear bud, phone, or JOY, as I haven’t really used them today. I fire up the Kindle and open a new book.

“The prose is too simple, reading more on a YA level, and is quite redundant . . .” I turn off my inner ‘editor’.

“Typo . . .typo . . . oh, I wouldn’t have done that . . .” I turn off my inner ‘writer’.

As a reader, I enjoy the book. It takes me back to high school swimming class and all the insecurity and turmoil. I relate to the main character, but not his condition as he has a micro-penis. The story, at first troubling, is now sweet . . .

Fluffy crawls onto the bed, stepping around me. He climbs on top of me and starts purring. With light needling, I get the ‘paw-paw’ dance, the highest honor a cat can bestow. He needles the covers, still purring. When he’s given all he feels I deserve, he hops off and curls up at my feet.

I was quite wary of what would happen, as the main character got more than naive, but fortunately, he didn’t screw things up. I finished the two hundred page book in one sitting. Sure it’s late but I enjoyed it. Turning off the light, I lay my head on the pillow with visions of sugar plums dancing, well, sugar plums in the locker room showers after swimming practice . . .

Advertisements

About scavola

author of the gay 'Duke' and GLBT 'ATL Engineering' series
This entry was posted in social commentary, writing and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

what do YOU think?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s