August 19, 2004
I hate waking up in the morning.
I sit up in bed and the first thing I do is flex my damaged neck and listen to the sound of popcorn popping as I work the kinks out. Inside, it feels like sand grinding on broken glass. I have three pillows on my bed, but I never use any of them unless I'm sitting up watching a porno movie. If I sleep on a pillow, my neck may be stuck sideways for three days.
I put both feet on the floor to see if my knees still support me. I know that I need to piss, but I'm afraid that if I stand up too quickly, I'll fall down and piss all over myself while I lie on the floor in a broken heap. I rub those aching knees and stand up. I wobble a little bit at first, but it looks like I'm gonna walk another day.
Then, I work the kinks out of my back. The back is another got-dam design flaw in the human body. It should run down the CENTER instead of hanging out there in the rear supporting weight it ain't engineered to handle. I hear more popcorn and feel more sand grinding on broken glass.
Now, after five minutes of torture, I'm ready to go pee. I sleep nekkid, so it's not like I have to unzip my fly and go through any elaborate ritual to find my pecker and take a leak. But I'm still a sleepy-eyed boy at the time and if I'm not careful, thanks to all the bionics implanted in me, I may misfire, piss all over my leg or hit the wall when I was aiming at the commode. (Don't you think "commode" is a ridiculous word?)
After that, I'm ready for a Mountain Dew and some bacon for breakfast. I drink the Mountain Dew and decide not to cook bacon for myself. I can walk okay now and I've stopped sounding like popcorn in a microwave oven. I go to the Waffle House for some grits and eggs to go with that bacon. My usual waitress, Shirley, is happy to see me and she treats me like a king. I always leave her a big tip. I like Shirley.
Then, I run any errands I have to do and go back home to write. At night, I go back to bed and KNOW what I'll go through the next morning. I think that's where some of my tumultuous dreams come from.
It ain't easy being an old bastard.
All content © Rob Smith