Weekday Mornings

A soul shattering siren tears you from your sleep, it sounds like a garbage truck backing up, you want to ignore it, drift back into that exquisite point of sleep you have before waking, that point where the bed feels the most comfortable, and the sheets the softest they have ever felt. But, you know the best you can obtain is a few minutes more before the snooze button wears off and the soul tearing noise begins again. You roll over, smack the alarm clock and force yourself to sit up, because in a few minutes not only would have that alarm clock sounded again but you know your cell phone on the charger is about to chime in and somewhere, either in the kitchen or the living room, your tablet is going to join the chorus, you are not a morning person.

Stumbling out of the bedroom, eyes barely open you find your way to the back door, the cat trying to trip you all the way in a rush to get out into the world. Eyes still half shut it is time for a trip to the bathroom, brushing teeth, shaving, showering, and all other morning functions. a walk to the kitchen, turn on the coffee and drag your feet back down the hall to your bedroom to get dressed. 

You have made it back to the kitchen missing only your boots and your belt, the smoke from your third cigarette gets in your eyes as you strap up the boots. lean over, grab your coffee off the machine, half and half out of the fridge. The sun is shining out there, that morning air is warm and sweet, smelling of fresh cut grass. You walk out into the day, wiping the spider webs off your face that were strung over night across your steps in search of that night bonanza brought on by the back door light. Work awaits, the only thing that keeps you moving forward is the fact that you get to ride to work, and the knowledge that if you don't go to work, someone will come sooner or later and take the house. Open the garage doors, the sun hasn't climbed high enough to send too much of its luminescence inside, but you can see her sitting there waiting for you. Waiting for you to swing your leg over her, fire her up and back her out. You put on your shades, swing your leg over, throw on the battery switch, click the ignition switch, wait for the light to go out, hit the starter switch, a soul shattering siren tears into you, it sounds like a garbage truck backing up, you want to ignore it, drift back into sleep, into your dream, you want to hear that bike fire up, you hit the snooze button again, you start to drift back, back into that dream, you listen for that engine, you listen, but then, there is another sound, a sound you know all to well, the sound of rain hitting the windows. May as well get up, and go to work, the cell phone and tablet are singing to you, and the car is parked in the driveway.