A Typical Weekday Morning

The alarm on my phone vibrates at five thirty, and the sound comes from somewhere near my head, probably under the pillow because it sinks with the rest of my body into the wide crevasse of my nearly-deflated air mattress. I can’t tell whether the dim glow from the main room is an earlier sunrise than usual or if maybe I left the range light on above the stove. I hit snooze every five minutes for about fifteen, then grab both my phone and my plastic water cup nearly full of melted ice and take them to the kitchen, mostly so I’m sure not to forget to take my phone with me later. The routine is the same: off with the pajamas, on with the workout clothes that I set out the night before, turn on the computer so I don’t miss my reminders, prepare a half pot of coffee before I go downstairs, and grab my keys and a hand towel.

The halls are quiet, and if I arrive in the fitness room before six I probably won’t see anybody for the whole time I’m there. I find the remote control and turn on both TV’s, neither of which lately seem to provide the sports channels like they did before so I can watch baseball updates scrolling on one TV while watching local NBC news on Channel Five, so instead I have Channel Five on both TV’s because why not. I’d like to say I circulate throughout the room and work with all the machines, because after all I’m alone and nobody could hear me moan or cry, but I just do thirty minutes on the elliptical and call it a day. I tell myself that I’ll exercise my arms in the pool tonight, and I usually do, but I’m capable of more.

The aroma of Maxwell House coffee permeates my small living space when I return so I pour a cup even though I’m getting straight into the shower, but it’s my routine. My work clothes, like my exercise ones, are hanging up already but I don’t get fully dressed until the last minute. I turn on Channel Five again, but by now it’s the Today Show with Matt Lauer and Meredith Vieira, make a one- or two-egg omelet with shredded cheddar cheese and tapatio sauce, pour a half cup of orange juice to drink with my men’s multivitamin, and then wash the dishes when I’m done.

I decide what I need to take with me today, optimistically planning to take care of a few personal administrative details, which I usually fail to do because after all I have real work to do. Nevertheless, always targeting the ideal life in true getting-things-done fashion, I have an updated to-do list and that makes me feel good. I hope to talk to the kids and Melissa before they get on with their day, and sometimes I do but often I’m too late. They’re busy, and that’s good.

In many ways I do act out the bachelor lifestyle. It’s like there’s an internal switch that flips to male the moment I walk through the door. I admit that I leave the toilet seat up, even after instinctively putting it down at home or anywhere else after 17 years of marriage. I hang up towels and exercise clothes over the closet doors and folding chairs so they’ll air out while I’m at work. I eat peanut butter right out of the jar just because I feel like it. If there’s time and I don’t have an early morning meeting to prepare for, then I might sit and read my latest Piper book in my boxers, and trust me I’d only do that alone.

On the other hand before leaving for work I do make the bed every day, clean the few dishes I’ve used, and wipe down the counters, both in the kitchen and in the bathroom. The days of leaving for work before the sun comes up are long gone, and since I’m not trying to beat traffic, I don’t mind arriving at a normal hour. I make sure that I have an umbrella, just in case, and then turn off the air conditioning and bedroom ceiling fan, lock the door behind me, and begin my walk.