Weekday

short story chronicling the rituals that take place in the morning for the modern neurotic.

WEEKDAY

I wake up at 8 A.M. I realize that I’m awake and that my back hurts. It’s time to go clean myself and fix some food. Possibly drink some orange juice. I slouch into the shower and manage to use the curtains correctly so that no water gets on the floor and ruins the apartment below mine. I get out of the shower and hurry as quickly as I can to the coffee maker. I enjoy the smell more than the taste. Well, actually it’s the stimulation that I crave. Maybe it’s the expectation of indulging in the only thing that makes it worth getting up for, though, everyone is different. Alcoholics get up to start another day of drinking. Same thing with drug addicts. A lot of comparisons there. I grin and twist my head as I then intently stare at the black liquid filling up my cup. It comes down in swirls-steam comes off of the black liquid making for a pleasurable viewing experience. I stare at my prescription bottle hesitantly, but I still make it towards the bottle and down the pills. If I can’t feel as content off the pills, as I am while on the pills, am I even alright with being as I am? Just a guy who has to get up in the morning and go do his job. But without the pills, I cannot do my job. And if I’m supposed to somehow attain pleasure by engaging my personality with that of other personalities in the workplace, am I of any value? Because it’s true that I despise my job. Those oblong pills get me through the workday. Even then, I do not attain any pleasure, the pills only numb the dread. It could be said that I think too much. And because I think too much, I worry myself to vast points. It also could be said that therefore, because I worry incessantly, and increase the dread, the pills could be useless. I mean, the real problem lies within my brain and it can’t be cured just like that. The pills only numb the dread. It’s incredible how the mind flutters. My thoughts go in and out, and most of the time, I don’t really remember what I was thinking just a few seconds or so later. But I do know that it’s time to start the workday. Outside everything seems alright. People making their way to wherever they are requested. They look nice enough. I’d strike up a conversation with one of the neighbors, but they don’t seem to pay any attention to me at all. There have been times when people, who are out exercising, run past my glance and don’t make the slightest effort to engage. Usually, it’s just a sniff of the nose. Like something to get them past the encounter. A nervous tick, which serves as a reactionary tool to forced social interaction. A sort of innate reaction to a stranger; they avoid any contact with me so that I don’t get the wrong impression and subsequently coerce them into an exchange of words on successive days. I can't blame them though, I don't have any interest in small talk. I get into the car with my co-worker and my best friend, Jax. I don’t think I’ve ever met another person who goes by the name Jax, and spells it just like my best friend, Jax. In the car, Jax and I bring up stories we’ve heard thousands of times. For some reason, we never have anything else to talk about. We, for some reason, are incapable of initiating an entirely unfamiliar conversation. There are some good stories though. Memories that are filled with joy.

Author's Note

Open to all and any thoughts, suggestions, critique. Really anything at all.Whatever is on your mind. Tell me it, I'd like to find out what you have in mind. That'd be great. Thanks.