The War Within

My brain is always a little slow to start in the mornings, but lately, it's been ridiculous. I could blame the heat, which has us sweating in our underwear as we crank our two little A/C units up to 10. Or an ill-advised ride on the Cyclone at Coney Island this past holiday weekend, which left me with a headache and a strained neck that still feels pretty tender a couple of days later. But allow me to give an example of my own stupidity.

I hit the snooze button one too many times this morning because I had to take care of some dream business before I returned to waking life. While I can't remember if the dream transaction was ever completed, it did make me late. I am not at my best when in a hurry, for the simple fact that I move at a glacial pace in the morning. I typically rise from my bed, stare at the glass of water on my bureau for a few minutes until I realize I am thirsty and remember how to drink it. I'm usually not quite able to calculate how far I need to tip the glass for water to go into my mouth, so I often dribble on or drench myself in the process. Then I go in to the bathroom and sit on the toilet for a while until I realize I sat down there for a reason. Morning eliminations completed, I wash my hands and then stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror and pick sleep sand ponderously out of my eyes. How does all that gunk get in there? Then eventually I get to the business of washing my face and applying the various creams, nasal sprays, and deodorizers that keep my skin functioning at its spotty best. While the deodorant dries on my armpits, I shuffle over to my closet and open it. It's always very dark, so I usually stick my hands in and try to find something to wear by feel until I remember that there is in fact a light in there. Once I locate the switch, which can take upwards of 5 minutes, I then stare at the chaos in front of me and think, "Wow, I have clothes." If I haven't planned what to wear the night before, this process can be interminable. I often overlook things like office appropriateness, the suitability of certain kinds of underwear to certain fabrics, or basic color matching when in my morning stupor. I am utterly unprepared to face thoughts such as, "it's hot outside, but cold in the office."

Then I go put in my contacts, which helps a little, considering I rarely think to stop and put on my glasses when I get out of bed. Make-up application is surprisingly a quick and painless process for me, but wiggling into my final wardrobe selection in the morning can be a difficult process. Pant legs and armholes don't seem to match up to my limbs. Often I forget about clothing features meant to aid in the process of dressing, such as zippers and buttons. Then I look at myself in the mirror and realize my outfit needs immediate revision, so I take another stab at it. This process can be interminable.

After feeding the cat and attending to my own feeding (during which I am almost certain to spill sticky, cereal-laden almond milk into my lap), I enter the bathroom to take care of the last part of my routine- hair. I am really terrible at doing my hair. Usually I just sleep on it after showering at night so that I don't have to wrangle with a hair-dryer, which is difficult enough in a morning stupor, but almost impossible given the fact that I have no electrical outlets in my bathroom. When we moved in, there was an extension cord hanging from the bathroom light that looked extremely hazardous, but fortunately I don't care enough about my hair to risk electrocution. I just run a brush through it a few times and get a good haircut every few months and it usually takes care of itself with the aid of a little hairspray. This morning, however, I uncapped a can of hairspray, looked at it, depressed the button and shot a burst of it straight into my left eye. Strangely it didn't really burn, but I did have to rinse out my contact and flush the eye for safety. It still feels a little sticky.

Then, it comes times to transfer items into a purse that matches my ensemble. This is the most hazardous part of the routine. I run down the list. Phone, iPod, book, lipstick, wallet, hand sanitizer, office bathroom key... okay, time to leave. Except, after I have left my apartment building and am crossing the street, I remember what I forgot- my Metrocard. Time to go back upstairs. I shuffle as quickly as I can in whatever insensible footwear I have selected for the day (this morning, it was platform espadrilles). In the courtyard, the lanyard I keep my keys on snags on the ugly chain-link fence around our "lawn" and falls to the pavement. Something is always falling on ground. I pick it up carefully because of my shoes and the fact that my skirt is catching the wind. I go upstairs, briefly wonder why I am in my apartment instead of the subway, and pause for a minute to try to remember my reasons for this alteration in routine. I locate the missing essential object and off I go to work, where I am always ten or fifteen minutes late. Except when I forget the essential object I need and fail to double back for the lunch I packed, which will greet me with a rancid stench upon my return.

Why am I so stupid in the morning? Some may think I'm just not a morning person, but I'm a sourpuss. I'm not an evening person or an afternoon person or a middle-of-the-night person, either. So here's my latest theory: I am schizophrenic, and my other identity is constantly trying to avenge itself because it is not my dominant personality. Sounds far fetched, I know, but there's really no a better explanation.

-B.S.