Today Was the First Day of the Rest of My Life

Alarm on cell phone wakes me up at 8:30. I crawl off the couch around 9 (I've been sleeping in the living room a lot lately), throw some clothes on and catch a cursory glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror to make sure I haven't grown two heads in the middle of the night. I move my car out of its meter spot and snag a lucky space in my designated permit parking area. This is how we live our lives, in cubes. In inches. I think I heard it in a movie once.

Re-entering my apartment, I flirt with the idea of shutting the curtains and going back to sleep, but I decide against it. Water goes in, coffee comes out. I make oatmeal and throw in an extra tablespoon of brown sugar. Time to write; I'm behind on articles and need to catch up.

Juices flowing (NOT "Let Down"). The world smiles on me. I finish my article by lunchtime and email it to my boss. He's sick in bed. I track some things down to help him out. Grilled cheese and Tofurky for lunch. I brown the bread just right. The world smiles on me.

I return my mom's phone call from earlier in the day but the voicemail keeps picking up. I don't leave a message, I just keep trying. Eventually I get a hold of her and we talk for the better part of an hour; among the topics discussed are my niece and nephew, genealogy, Google Earth, and the Man (keepin' us down). I drop my late rent check off at the post office down the street; it'll clear if my unemployment check comes as anticipated next week. Money's tight these days.

I'd planned on hitting the gym, but I skip it -- the rain falls outside in a steady, tender flow, just like my excuses. I sit and watch it for a few seconds; its undulations directly determine the degree of my contentment. Alliteration often comes unexpectedly.

I make plans with my friend; dinner at 8. I show up at 7 and he whips together some pad Thai. We try and watch "The Negotiator" on TV but it doesn't take (no cable). During "Parenthood" the signal keeps going out. I adjust the antenna, but it doesn't take. Lauren Graham keeps dissolving into pixels.

My friend hops in the shower, and when he gets out we bicker. It's his dysfunction, but he's making it mine somehow, and I find myself defenseless against the barrage. I leave. Destroy yourself if you have to. I won't stick around to watch the fire.

Home, lonely (where is he, anyway, in this big bad world?), I attempted work on my script. It didn't take. But I always have my thoughts, and this screen, and a keyboard. Steady and carefree, the words roll past the dullness of my mind and tumble out in a whisper. Lubricated slightly by Simpler Times.

This is my gift, and I'm thankful for it. So many reasons to be thankful, in fact. After all, today was the first day of the rest of my life.