A Day in the Life

     Waking up is such a difficult things to do. One minute you are dreaming about something, anything, letting your body and mind communicate in such a way as your deepest and darkest objectification of the subconscious drift before your eyes to play, then, you wake up and have to take on the real world. If that is, the real world is what you call this tangible dream.

    Usually, the day begins for me with coffee or an energy drink, though, I recently read a news article, possibly the New York Times, maybe Men's Health, that sugar can be not only fattening and cause diabetes but may, unchecked, lead to a decrease in testosterone, as well as a reduction in sex drive.
    Following that, I have to choose what I plan to wear for the day. Do I go all out to make a good impression and attach to myself the new John Varvatos slim-fit dress shirt with pearlescent French cuff cufflinks that I picked up at Barney's Chicago for three hundred twenty-eight dollars, paired harmoniously with deep sea black colored trousers I found at Bloomingdale's for two hundred fifty-eight dollars? Or, do I wear the Brooks Brothers three-piece slim fit dark black contrasted by cloud-white ensemble I purchased for one thousand two hundred seventy-three dollars--a steal--last winter during their Christmas sale?
    Everything and anything is possible with the money you do not use to buy food, spend on trivial items, or other people's holidays.
    I choose to wear the Varvatos with the Brooks Brother's trousers but when I see a few specks of blood on the pocket, I suggest to myself that I need to take them to the dry cleaners and instead wear the first pants I had in mind.
    On my way to work, I stop off at Panera and splurge on an onion bagel, before heading into the office. At work, at the hotel, I find myself unable to concentrate at my desk and decide to go walking around the floors of the building, eventually finding my way to the second floor, the topmost floor, aside pacing about on the roof. I consider going to see Natalie...or Stephanie...or whatever her name is this week. I wonder what she advertises this week on her "specials" list... Maybe I could even stop off at 316 and buy a bit of Jane to inhale when I go to see her. The possibilities are endless when you work where I work when you see what I see.

    Eventually, I find my way to the laundry but the chemicals there repel me and so I just continue walking around the atrium, the rotunda of the hotel until at last I stand at the very center of things.
    The whole building rises up around me and all the windows, all the doors with little peepholes surround me. I have the gravest feeling I am being watched that someone is watching me and judging me, maybe on how I look, what I am wearing, how my hair is styled. I grab my hotel key from out of my pocket and race off to one of the rooms I know are vacant; one of the rooms containing high-porous black mold. I sit down on the floor beside a broken crack pipe and a used condom and make sure to bury my palms deeply into both.
    I fall asleep.
    When I wake it is to the beginning of a new day and I have to decide what I am going to wear, more importantly, who am I going to wear; what I am going to drink--coffee? Energy drink?






    Then I have to look in the mirror and put on my best smile, so as not to alarm anyone of the stranger hidden deeply below the skin. I have to prepare myself for another day...

    Another day in the life of me.

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