A Slice of the Twentieth 3.20.2016

I woke up at seven this morning. I hate mornings. I am not a cheery eyed riser. No, I wake with slug like precision, grunting and groaning with every shuffle.

I get dressed and ensure I am presentable enough for public view with a quick mirror side glance. I head out the door  to church. My brain is still cloudy with morning grogginess despite the 16 ounces of coffee I gulped faster than its heat told me I should.

The last song has been sung and the final adieu waved. It’s now time to head back home and time get to work on my paper!The weighted feeling has spread to my limbs. If it’s possible, I now grunt and groan with even more enthusiasm as I walk back through the front door of my home. To my surprise, there before me I see a pile of dishes that seems to be stacked to the sky.

Where did they come from!? My neighbors must have sneaked inside and left their dishes for me to wash! My mother did always tell me that there are certainties to life. Dishes must be one of them.

Okay, fine! I submit to my inner adult and plunge dish after dish into hot soapy water. Beginning crisp, clear and bubbly the water now looks like a ghoulish witchy brew. I cringe as I dip my hands into the belly of the beast. My fingers emerge as someone else. Once youthful and sleek they are now wrinkled and distorted, the hands of an old haggard woman.

Is it really worth the torture?

Finally! I have finished! Ah, what a feeling of relief sweeps over me. I can feel serenity trickling down through my body. Accomplishment wells up inside of me as I sit down at my kitchen table and survey the spotless and twinkling scape before me. What a beautiful sight! You know what!? I think I’ll have a celebratory hot chocolate.

Kettle, spoon, mug. . . OH, MAN! Here we go again.


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