Mai-dai

I wake up at six a.m.

My eyes snap open. My chest beats. My eyes strain to the sound of my alarm. Snooze. They relax. I begin thinking about my day and my heart quickens with excitement. Carpe diem. And my mind begins to cull the appendages and the haze burns away. Thoughts race and I rise up from my bed. Coffee is made. I grab the book next to my nightstand and step onto the porch. The morning hue greets me. I feel the suns warmth increase as it creeps over the horizon. The highway is hushed. The occasional car passes, their engines whiz as they whoosh away. I grab my coffee. Sip lightly. Its bitter aroma saturates every corner of my stale mouth, wakes it from sleep, heightens my senses, the burn, the bitter, the crisp curves emanating from its steamy surface. I inhale the aroma and it relieves me.

The pages peel open and I loose myself for the next hour. I set the book down and pick up my journal. My thoughts are nimble now, awake and shaking with excitement. I pen my thoughts. I explore the events of the day prior. Minor reflection. I dream about the day to come. I project outward a day, a week, a month, a year, five years. I stare at her face, the visage of my wife, that future love of mine. My heart grips. Motivation is restored. Passions pours from my pores, courses through my veins, churns within me. The day is mine.

I am one of the first to arrive. Only the head of operations has me beat. What times does she arrive? Should I arrive before her? I glance at my watch: 7:45am.

The rest of the day I work like a machine, tracking expenses, entering data, sending emails, responding to emails, sending invoices, bills. Lunch time. We gather and I opt out of going out for lunch in favor of eating my bagged lunch: saving money.

Work ends: 5:45pm. I drive home. The traffic is light.

I arrive home and head for my room. I do not speak to my roommates except for a “hello!” or “good afternoon!”. I undress, discarding the tight layers of business clothing. My skin breaths.

I fall into my bed. My eyes close.

An alarm sounds for 6:30pm: Gym time. I dress, prepare a shake, pop my ear buds in, and begin my jog to the gym. I grab light weight and lift it with ease. Slowly my muscles begin to warm and my mind tightens as I focus my will. The weight increases. I lift heavier, and heavier. Sweat beads on my forehead. I wipe it and examine it as I would examine my efforts: more.

I leave the gym short of breath. My insides are weak. Walking and breathing is difficult. It’s been a good workout.

I pull chicken from the fridge and season it with a medley of spices. I switch the Foreman grill on and throw the meat on the grill. I chop vegetables. I fry them. Season them. Balsamic. Olive oil. Meat is finished. I eat. Alone.

My roommates are watching cartoons. Or playing guitar and singing, howling, moaning. Straining. I can’t tell the difference. I try hiding in my room, in my book. I write in my journal. Tension is released. I dream and release my moods onto the blank pages. Mellifluous imagery bleeds from the backsides of my eyelids. My fingers dance, recording their pleasure through my pen. I pick up a book. I read. My eyes grow heavy: 10:00pm.

Bed.

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