When I was pining away for my divorce, I would do those stupid decision trees contemplating the pros and cons of not supporting my x husband anymore. Looking back, it really doesn’t seem that complicated. No more than ordering coffee at Starbucks at 6 a.m. One factor I did not consider in my forest of decision trees, were M O R N I N G S. Better yet, how much I hate M O R N I N G S.
For me, an ideal morning is some man getting out of bed without disturbing me, who prepares fresh ground coffee, turns the heat on, gets my thyroid meds and brings them to me with a fresh hot piping cup of coffee. If he can set out my clothes, press them, prepare breakfast, my son’s lunch and start the shower for me to run into like a track star completing a 30-yard dash - he's my dream guy. I get an orgasm at the thought of it.
But noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo did I think of this as a part of my balanced picture of the risks and rewards associated with my possible course of action? Hell no. My x husband was the great conductor of our mornings. Basically, all I had to do was shower and blow-dry my hair. He even got Brian ready. I just had to drive Brian to day-care on my way to work.
KB remembers one of the times I brought Brian into the office first thing in the morning. My x placed Brian in the car seat. I took off for work, rocking out to some 80's throwback band on the radio. When I arrive at work I jump out of the car and hear this odd little sound say, “Mommy’s work!” I thought it was a ghost until I realize I forgot to take Brian to day-care. There he was in the back, all-cute and smiles, thrilled to be at mommy’s office. Since I was at work, and the trip back to day-care would make me late, I took him inside to ‘see mommy’s work’. I then proceed to explain to my co-workers that I actually forgot I had a child. I am a natural mother aren’t I?
So mornings aren’t exactly my thing. If I were to equate me in the morning to something, then I am like those Harley Davidsons we see parked on the side of the road. You know, that Harley some guy is desperately trying to kick-start. We’ve all seen these guys in leather (yum), red-faced jumping up and down on the pedal trying to turn the bike on. That's me trying to start my body along with my cobweb-infested brain.
Luckily, the force of needing to get Brian up and going makes me deal with life before 9 a.m. I have a ritual. It’s the mathematical Catherine way to get out of bed in the morning. I keep my thyroid meds next to the bed. When my nasty-someone-buy- me-a-gun-to shoot-it alarm goes off for the first time at 5:30am I manage to roll over, pull out two pills, place them under my tongue, hit snooze and roll over to go back to sleep as my meds begin to work their way into my bloodstream. Off in a distant kitchen, the coffee makes itself. I am madly in love with the Engineer who put an alarm system on a coffee maker. He’s my hero.
Then after a restful 25-minute nap, Boonie is my 6:00 a.m. second snooze button. She comes and pulls on my blankets and growls until I get up and let her outside. I love her, but at this point in the morning I hate her. Who invented dogs that get up before 9:00?
Luckily it is still dark, or I’d be forced to put sunglasses on, as I grab my cup of coffee and stumble out the back looking like Phyllis Diller on a binge. Boonie is happy. Who is happy at 6:00 in the morning? She runs around, does her thing as I shut the gate and race her, coffee in hand back to my warm bed. 6:15 a.m. the snooze alarm goes off again and it is time to do subtraction. “If I don’t wash my hair … I can sleep15 minutes more…” If I eat breakfast at the office…. oh wait …there’s Brian…will he eat bagels…. 10 more minutes”.
This morning, after a significant amount of mathematical morning equations I realize I am not smelling my usual morning coffee aroma. I arise to find my coffee machine is not working. Someone get out the Prozac drip now. I cannot start my day without that luscious first cup of hot adrenalin that tastes like coffee. As I recover from my panic attack I realize there is a drive-through Starbucks coffee just up the street. I nudge Brian awake to tell him I am going to Starbucks. He moans, "Bring me some hot cocoa please", and he rolls away from me. He really isn't a morning person either.
I race out the door faster than the speed of light with a mission. Unfortunately, the drive-through line at Starbucks backs all the way to South America, so I am forced to go inside. UGH...I have to talk before coffee. I wait in a small line, and when I get to the counter, the young man taking my order can't seem to get a simple cup of coffee straight. By his third mistake I muse. "Maybe you need another shot of Starbucks coffee". To which he replies:
"Oh God I hate Starbucks coffee. I don't drink it!"
[Sumitted for your review... there is a 5th dimension....beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between cafeinated and decafeinated, between coffee and murder, and it lies between the pit of man's cash register and the summit of a redhead's need for caffeine. This is the dimension of impatience. It is an area which we call the Starbuck's Twilight Zone....
You are looking at Mr. Early Morning Starbuck's Cashier, who carries on his shoulder a chip the size of the national debt. This is a sour man. A friendless man. A lonely man. A grasping, compulsive, nervous man. This is a man who lived twenty undistinguished, coffeeless, meaningless, pointless, failure-laden years. And who, at this moment, looks for an escape, any escape, any way, anything, anybody to blame about his coffeeless rut.]
I stare at him with one of those "I am a nut redhead, and if I don't get my coffee and son's hot cocoa in the next 5 seconds, my head will explode like Krakatoa, East of Java!" Luckily, two other workers ignore him as one prepares my coffee and the other prepares Brian's hot cocoa and passes them to me while our misguided cashier is still figuring out if he really works at Starbuck's or not. Luckily for me, this Starbucks Twilight Zone is brief.
I am wondering if Starbucks enjoys paying employees who say they hate Starbucks coffee, and who is the real idiot here? Maybe when he applied at Starucks he was hoping it would turn into a beer pub by the time he showed up. I don't care... I have my coffee and I am happy. But I am thinking this would all be easier if I allow some man to do the morning wake-up drill for me. It isn't going to be Brian. He is so bad at mornings that I am prepared to see him drink coffee by 7th grade. Hmmmmmm .... maybe he will make it for me then...
I should have thought about this in my divorce contingency plan. Maybe .... instead of worrying about custody of Brian, I should have negotiated that my x show up every morning, start the coffee and get Brian off to school while I sleep....
Naw, ICK.... having to see my x early in the morning would make me dry heave last night's dinner. I guess I have to buy another orgasmic, alarm-coffee maker and continue doing my math... blow dry, minus ironing, plus breakfast, equals...
Until next time-
C
