Gray Day in the Morning

Entry #1 from my on-line journal

Friday, September 27, 1996

I am awakened from a dreamless sleep by Mr. Muffin, my one-eared calico,
who expresses his urgency for a meal by taking a running leap at the bed
and landing with his hind paws squarely planted on my crotch.

With a piercing shriek, I bolt upright out of my cozy pita-pocket
of bed covers. Mr. Muffin flees to the kitchen. I contemplate the gray
and chilly fog roiling outside my bedroom window.
The digital clock blinks 11:22 at me.
Time to get a start on the day

I shuffle toward the bathroom. The ache in my testicles only serves
to remind me of Tatiana. Tatiana, why did you dump me?
I could be a race car-driving neurologist with a MacArthur Foundation Grant,
just like your new boyfriend.

If I wanted to, that is.

After my shower, I head to the kitchen.
My roommates, Egon and Soren, have left for the day.
Egon works at Brew-Ha-Ha, the cafe just around the corner.
His Ph.D. in engineering comes in handy when making steamed milk.
Soren writes applets for Stun Microsystems. He wears a tee-shirt that says,
"Java scripters do it across platforms."
He believes this to be funny.

Egon and Soren are both idiots.

[onward]

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