Why Don't I Shut UP?

Did you ever wake up in the morning and just KNOW that the day lying ahead of you is going to completely suck? And i'm talking eyes not even open yet, barely even concious, yet the cloud of sucky doom is already floating over your head. Been there? I'm not a morning person to begin with. My desire to interact with people on a normal basis falls somewhere between a lowly mountain sherpa and bigfoot. Tack on the early-morning element and my conversational skills are about as developed as a Russian immigrant attending a West-Virginia hog auction. But that wasn't the case this morning. Thankfully, I was not plagued by shiny happy morning people (i hate you all). No, this morning it was all me.

As I mentioned, I peeled my eyeballs open with a foreboding feeling of sucky doom. It was there and I could not deny it (kinda like gaydar with alot less style). Deciding to ignore that nagging urge to pull the covers over my head and sleep till wednesday, I crawled out of bed...

...and directly onto the dog sleeping faithfully on the floor. However, a sleeping dog is a lot less faithful than one that's awake. And when I stepped out of bed and onto his tail, he first yelped out (This startled me into toe-tapping, Lord-Of-The-Dance frenzy), and then lunged for my foot. In his defense, he had no clue who was dancing on his tail...he just wanted it to stop. In my defense...he sucks. When Gus lunged, I lost balance, dove OVER him onto the floor, and became tangled up in the huge labrador retriever laying on the floor. At first, Gus thought he was in trouble, which immediately caused him to pee on me. Yes...that's right.

Pee.

Then, realizing he not going to doggy heaven, he realized it was play time and decided to wrestle. Now, I had no clue how long Gus had been training with Tito Ortiz, or how much he was being charged for lessons, but BOY were they paying off! He proceeded to pin me to the floor and pummel me with his big stupid paws. Finally realizing that i was about to get my ass kicked, I issued a series of blistering kidney punches and a WWE-style pile driver and the dog decided it was time to eat. Nothing hurts this dog...stop looking so shocked.

So with my highly-trained attack dog at bay I decided to jump in the shower.

You would think that, having just gone toe-to-toe with the dog, the blood would be flowing. So not true. It would seem that my motor skills and peripheral vision don't seem to kick in until about 20 minutes after the rest of my body wakes up.

I stumbled into the half open bathroom door. Said "excuse me" as I rubbed my head. Knocked the tooth paste into the trash can. Used the wrong tooth brush (eww...don't tell). Managed to get the shower going without blowing up the north side of my house. And somehow managed to get dressed. White polo shirt (remember this detail), khaki pants, black shoes...etc. Damn I'm hot!

The following incidents occurred between the time I stepped out of the bathroom and got into my car to go to work:

- Halfway down the steps, all three dogs realize they want to go out and stampede, old-west style, down the steps, causing me to do that sorta ski-slide down about four steps. Checked underpants...no damage.

- All three dogs go out on the porch, realize it's raining and decide that the living room might be a better place to relieve themselves. Seeing the look on their faces, I abruptly slam the door shut and giggle with demonic glee.

- Open up the refrigerator to get out a yogurt. Door railing pops off and entire contents of door shelf rain down out of the fridge and onto the floor. Contemplate leaving items there and pretend "I didn't see it." Figured it wasn't worth a black eye and returned the items to the fridge.

- Grab one of our surplus of plastic wal-mart bags to carry my sodas and yogurt to work. Bag has hole, yogurt goes through hole. Yogurt explodes on the floor. Thought about the black eye...cleaned up yogurt.

- Grab my new hole-less sack of goodies, a 20oz green tea, a peanut butter sandwich, and my keys and head for the door. In an attempt to open said door, the green tea leaps from my fingers. In hindsight...i should've put the top on the tea but that would make too much sense. The tea tumbles down the front of my white polo shirt and onto the floor. I stand there staring at the mess.

This is the point where i can't move. I can FEEL my skull vibrating from my brain boiling over. I'm standing in the doorway with a wet shirt, a wet sandwich, a wet floor, and the ungodly urge to kill the world. There is a patch of brown dampness on my shirt a little larger than the size of a basketball and for a split second I think "hhhmmmm...maybe no one will notice."

All I can say is that if the day goes any worse i'll be in intensive care by nightfall.

One can only hope.

posted by Michael Witmer @ Thursday, July 13, 2006