I set my alarm for 6:04am every night. When it goes off, I’m usually already awake, but I hit snooze anyways. Twice. I’m out of bed at precisely 6:22 because I know this is the absolute latest I can get up, do what I need to do, and leave my house in time to be at work at something resembling the time I’m supposed to be there.
I turn the water on in the shower, and brush my teeth as it warms up. I’m out and clean and dried by 6:32, 6:35 if I shave. I throw on some clothes, one of three pairs of pants and one of six shirts that I own that are work appropriate. I pour a travel mug of coffee, throw an apple in my bag, and leave, careful to lock up behind myself.
I drive. I turn on talk radio but don’t pay attention. I think about the same thing every morning. There’s nothing else to think about.
I park at the office somewhere between 7:04 and 7:12 (depending on traffic), swipe my door key and walk to my cubicle. I turn off the out of office message, connect to the corporate network (on the days that it’s not broken), reply to e-mails, and settle in. I read the news. I look at a select handful of websites that I’ve told myself I can get away with browsing at work. It’s an arbitrary bunch. I look at them repeatedly, hoping for new content. I call customers, I argue with the production department, I arrange for couriers. I send e-mails constantly. I take a lunch break at 1:00pm. Sometimes later. I eat the same things over and over, and plow through whatever book happens to be in my bag that day.
With two hours left in my day, I tackle the remaining work. I usually finish it.
I leave as close to 4pm as possible. If I leave at 4pm, I get home before 5pm. If I leave any later, I’m lucky to get home by 6pm. I turn on talk radio again, and still don’t listen. I tap the gas and inch along the freeway, crawling towards the bridge, towards home. My mind wanders. I always think about the same thing. There’s nothing else to think about. Sometimes it’s all I can do to keep it together. Occasionally I can’t, and I’m glad everyone around me is an anonymous commuter.
I get off the freeway, and take 50th instead of 45th, because it gets me home 3 to 5 minutes earlier on average.
I get home, throw my bag on my bed, check my e-mail, and proceed to zone out completely for about an hour. I read sites habitually. There’s nothing that really interests me online anymore, but I still check my usual sites compulsively, repeatedly. I wonder what to do with my night, and the answer is often “nothing”. On the rare occasion that there’s something to do, I sleepwalk through it. I smile and nod. I laugh at all the right jokes, and I’m sympathetic at all the right moments. It’s all I can do to keep it together. The cracks show occasionally. If I stay home, I distract myself. I make dinner and pair it with a beer or two. Or three. I try to teach myself a song I don’t really want to know how to play. I read. I watch shows I don’t really care about. I try not to think about how I should be making music, building a website, taking pictures, writing, something. I just try not to think at all.
I end up in bed around midnight. I try sleeping on one side, then the other, but neither side is comfortable anymore. If I listen to music, I can fall alseep within a half hour, usually. If I don’t, I toss and turn, sometimes for an hour or more, as it takes that long to stop thinking. Music seems like an easy choice, but it’s not that simple. I can’t explain why. It’s the same reason I turn on talk radio and don’t listen. It makes no sense, but neither does any of this. I don’t know why I do any of it.
