I get up too late, after three times hitting the snooze. I head into the bathroom, make a face at my funny hair in the mirror, skip the shower. I smell fine.
Every evening, I have good intentions. I put out the bowl, the spoon, the box of cereal. All I need to do is pour and add milk, but here I am again, running late. At least my good intentions extend to setting the coffee maker, as all I have time for now is pouring coffee and a splash of cream into my second-favorite travel mug (favorite one is dirty - it is, after all, Tuesday. Two days of the week, two days of good intentions wasted).
I speed-walk to the bus stop, then look around me. I missed the first bus, but the second one is only three minutes behind it. Another good intention - get to work early, when it’s still peaceful, before the havoc starts. Before people need to find me and ask me questions, distract me from getting done what I need to get done.
If only I could get up on the first alarm, have breakfast, get to work early, then my life would be perfect.
However, the benefit of taking the second bus is getting to see that girl again. The one with the interesting hair and the tattoos. Three minutes sitting near her, breathing her air, wondering where she’s going, and then I transfer to another bus.
Maybe that’s the reason, after all. Maybe I can’t get my life together until I talk to her, ask her out, get married and have babies with interesting hair. Maybe it’s God pushing us together, every morning, possessing my hand to hit the snooze.
Or maybe I just have too vivid of an imagination.
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