The Morning Routine
It’s a beautiful morning in Brooklyn, NY. The sun is shining, there’s a nippiness to the air and the wind is blowing the tree outside my window like mad, woosh woosh. The apartment is quiet, everybody else won’t wake until at least noon. Even my kitties haven’t woken yet, but honestly they don’t ever wake up. I’m somewhat jealous of their existence. I wish I could just eat, sleep and poop, nothing more, that would be the life.
Every morning I eat the same breakfast. I make some oatmeal (plain), put a little brown sugar on it and then top it off with a hint of cinnamon. I pour myself a cup of orange juice and put a banana in my pocket, gotta have an after breakfast treat! I’m a master of routine, I find comfort in doing the same things, day in and out. Sure occasionally I’ll opt for cold cereal instead of oatmeal, but my day is gonna suck then, I accept that thought from the start.
The shower is a sacred place for me, I love it so. Typically I’m freezing in the morning (I like my room to be cold so that I can snuggle during the night), so that bolt of hot water hitting me is like a blanket wrapping around my body. I don’t know what Freud or Jung would say about my enjoyment in the idea of covering up, snuggling myself. Could it be that I’m still longing for the love of my mother (I feel I’m doing alright there), or could it be something more? I ask myself these questions while in the show.
I look down at my body and feel proud, I’ve lost a tremendous amount of weight. Then I grab the excess skin that hangs from my body. What most people who have never been obese and then lost weight don’t realize is that, because I was so large my skin had to stretch with me, but when I lost the weight the skin couldn’t quite keep up, thus resulting in excess skin. Standing up I’m fine, and when I lay down it all spreads out, but if you caught me leaning over somebody naked, hmm, frankly I’d probably blow a few chunks. But nonetheless, I’m proud of what I’ve done. I’d rather have excess skin then be fat, that’s for sure.
My towel smells like cat piss, the little shits. My cats have a tendency to enjoy peeing on the towels in the bathroom. I look around wondering just what will I dry myself off on. I come across the shirt I slept in. You’d be amazed and how soggy a t-shirt gets when it’s used as a towel.
In my room I rummage through my clothes to find something to wear. I’m limited in my options because of the weight loss. I cannot afford to go out and buy all new clothes but I also refuse to wear my old, baggy clothes. Instead I’ll just wear a variation on the same thing I always wear, jeans, t-shirt and a black, v-neck sweater. Simple, classic and truly an original; not a bad staple outfit if I do say so myself.
Routines, some people hate them. If I didn’t have one I’d probably go mad. Last night I saw the film Running with Scissors (I’ll write about that later), Augusten Burroughs comments after realizing that he has fucked up life is that all he wants is a little structure, maybe discipline. It’s amazing how a little routine can turn a frown upside down!
