The morning from hell

I’ve never been a morning person.

Unless, of course:

- Something I’m really, really looking forward to is happening that day.

- I’m still drunk from the night before and haven’t actually been to sleep.

- I’ve just had sex and I’m being woken up to have more sex.

That’s about it. Getting out of bed in the morning is one of the hardest things for me to do. It really brings out my temper. I can usually control myself quite well, but in the mornings it’s hit or miss. I try not to speak to anyone and they generally try not to speak to me. But for some reason, this unspoken rule doesn’t seem to apply to my mom’s boyfriend Ray.

People that are chipper in the morning piss me off. Just what the fuck do you have to be so happy about? The same routine happens every day. Except maybe it’s raining or maybe the dryer is making a strange noise so everyone is afraid to use it should it just happen to blow up and you have to actually iron your pants instead of fluff them. Ironing pisses me off.

I’m supposed to be the first person up, but it doesn’t always happen that way due to the invention of snooze buttons. The next person awake is Ray.

I’m not sure what his routine consists of exactly, but it sounds like a herd of buffalo are mauling each other in the kitchen. Then there’s the whistling and loud singing. Every morning. Seriously? You’re going to WHISTLE right outside my door? You have that much disregard for your ballsack? And singing “The sun will come out tomorrow”? Really?

Cue clenched fists, eyes rolled heavenward, teeth grinding, and big breaths.

This morning my alarm went off at 4:30 as usual. I beat it into submission every 15 minutes until I finally rolled out of the bed at 5:30. I could hear Ray pounding around and whistling in the kitchen. I padded across the room, poured contact solution in my eyes, and went straight for the coffee pot.

He paused in his whistling long enough to look at me, laugh and say, “Good morning!”

“Fuck off”, I growled at him.

He continued out the door, whistling his death song, and I continued toward the bathroom where I caught the first glimpse of myself. Hair stood up in all directions, one stubborn curl hung directly down the middle of my forehead and there were crease marks on my face. Nothing different there.

I was peeing (which I know you like to hear all about) when my cat Nugget came and stood with his front paws on my leg. “Eeeugh”, he said, because he can’t meow properly you know.

“Go ‘way Nug”, I grumbled as I shook him off my leg. He sat at my feet, his big green eyes staring up at me accusingly. Then he promptly vomited Purina cat food all over the toes of my right foot. I screamed and gagged. I don’t do well with vomit.

When I stood up to hobble to the tub and clean it off, I accidentally stepped on his tail. He squalled, wrapped both of his hairy arms around my leg and started biting the shit out of me. I grabbed him and held him up in front of my face, “GODDAMNIT NUG! WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM!”

That’s about the time Ray came back in to grab his to-go coffee he’d left on the counter, heard the ruckus, and came to investigate. He and Nug are boyfriends, you see, and he won’t tolerate any Nugly abuse. So around the corner he came and there I stood, with the door open (because that’s how I roll) and my pajama pants around my ankles and puke on my foot, shaking my addled cat in the air and screaming in his face while he countered with “Eeugh eeugh eeugh” noises.

“Put him down!”

“Here!” I tossed him the cat and slammed the door. I heard him say, “It’s ok Nug”, in his animal voice.

You know what I’m talking about, right? I don’t care who you are, when you talk to an animal that you like, you use a different tone. Sometimes one that’s so ridiculous it’s painful. Some people do it with children too. (Ray’s isn’t really that bad, but mine is. Maybe I should do a recording. I can just imagine your shock and horror.)

The rest of my morning routine went pretty smoothly until it was time to warm up the car. I opened the door and got smacked in the face with wind and rain and cold. Muttering under my breath, I backtracked and put on a jacket with a hood and tennis shoes. Upon reaching my car, I realized that my sister had parked so close to my passenger side that I wouldn’t be able to put the kid in the backseat. Muttering some more, I splashed over to the drivers side, got in, moved the car, and hurried back inside.

I went directly to my sister’s room. “If you ever park that close to me again, I’ll rip your face off.” (I swear I’m not usually a psycho shrew.)

She blinked at me, having just woken up. Another reason to hate her...she got 45 minutes more sleep than I did.

I bundled the kid, whining and sniveling about her coffee cup being empty and her TV show not being over, into her raincoat and herded her toward the door. I heard my sister in my mom’s room, “She said she’d rip my face off....”

I took our belongings out first and stashed them in the front seat and went back for the kid. I picked her up, carried her to the car, opened the back door and shoved her in her seat. She immediately started wailing.

“What? What? What happened?”

She continued to wail. The rain was pounding down on my back and ass as I was bent over her, searching for injury. “What? What happened?”

Finally, when I could feel it soaking past my jacket and into my shirt, she held out her little hand, covered in droplets of water and screamed, “I GOT ALL WET!”

OOOOK. Bite the tongue, shut the door, ignore ignore ignore.

I shut the door, walked around and got in my seat, dripping all over the interior. She’d stopped wailing and toned it down to the sniffles, which I also concentrated on ignoring.

I backed out, drove down our gravel road, took a left onto the main road, rounded the curve and slammed on breaks.

“What mama? What’s the matter?”

“Hold on kid.”

It was 6:40am and still pitch dark. My headlights were trained on an enormous tree lying across the entire length of the road.

Motherfucker.

I got out and stood in front of it, assessing the situation. If I waited for someone else to help me move it, I’d be late for work. If I moved it myself (there was no doubt in my mind I’d be able to move it myself because I’m hardcore like that), I’d probably get dirty. If I drove over it, I’d probably rip out that black piece that was still duct taped under the front. If I didn’t hurry and decide, I’d probably run out of gas before I made it to town. My idiot light was already on.

There was a split in the tree on my side of the road. I decided I’d kick it and see if could get it far enough out of the way to drive around. As I was kicking the tree, my neighbor pulled up on the opposite side. She poked her head out the window and said, “Want me to call somebody?”

“Who the fuck are you going to call?”

“Papa!”

“Yeah, because he’s going to get his fat old ass out here and move this tree”, I said still vigorously kicking.

I made a bit of progress, but realized that I would have to try and roll it out of the way with my hands.

While my neighbor watched from her car I started pushing on the tree, leaning into it, my shoes slipping on the pavement behind me as if I were on a treadmill. The tree was giving bit by tiny bit and the bark was biting into my hands. My boobs were falling out of my top, my clothes were soaked underneath my jacket and I could feel the wet creeping through to my underwear. And the whole time I was letting the tree have it: “You sorry sonofabitch! Fucking move! SHIT! MOVE GODDAMIT! I’m gonna...”

Threatening a tree must be bad karma because I never got to finish the rest. The next shove sent part of it rolling down the embankment and sent me belly flopping onto the dirty, wet asphalt.

I’m ashamed to admit that I might have kicked my feet like a child throwing a tantrum. Just for a minute. My neighbor was roaring with laughter. She’s used to my clumsy antics, but not to seeing a grown woman wallowing on the ground and screaming in frustration and anger.

On the plus side, I’d managed to push half of the tree out of the way and my path was clear. Unfortunately I was also filthy and soaked to the skin...which was going to make me late after all.

I picked myself up and returned home to change.

So, how was your morning? I’m kidding, I don’t really care. Didn’t you just read all that?