Wednesday, September 5, 2007

Pleasures and Routines

My morning and evening routines are what keep me in order. It can get boring and tedious, however I manage to find simple pleasures that can make or break my day. For example, I enjoy waking up, leaving my room and seeing the bathroom door wide open, telling me it wants me inside of her. Sure I'm getting sloppy thirds from her and some mornings I even get sloppy fourths (if one of my roomates has gotten lucky), but she wakes me up everytime. After my shower, I'm usually too tired to dry with that towel of mine. It involves bending, twisting, rubbing, shouting and dipping. So I tend to just jump back under my covers and let my bed sheets do the job while I rest.

My morning commute, right now, is a joy. The weather, the sites, the train all go hand in hand making my commute quit exhilirating. I leave my front door and skip (yes skip) across the Pulaski bridge. At the top, I turn to my left and say 'goodmorning' to Manhattan. I tend to walk fast on the downward slope of the bridge, passing fellow Greenpoint commuters. I always feel the hairs on the back of elbows stand up when I pass them. I feel that they think, that I THINK, that I am better than them cause I walk faster. I just don't want there to be a chance of me missing the train, simply because I didn't pick up the pace a little. I mean c'mon people it's not rocket surgery. I do feel dumb sometimes, though: When I'm the one sweating on the subway platform out of breath, and the fat slow people who decided to take leisurly walks across the bridge (still sweating of course) arrive on the platform just as the 7 train is arriving. They grin at me. I ignore them.

I get so excited when I see the trains lights peer up from the distance. In the morning I wait for the 7 train which takes me into midtown . I do get very aggrivated when the other side of the track, heading into Queens, has train after train arriving with no one in the carts. But I know I can always rely on the 7 train to come get me in a timely fashion. I never get mad, I just always get scared that others will think the 7 is a bad train. When I don't see you coming I begin thinking, c'mon buddy don't dissapoint. You don't want to do this to me, to them, to the sweat hog or most importantly to youself. Your a good train and I know that

...And then you wink at me as you come into sight.

"Goodmorning 7."
" It is a good morning John. And it is nice to see you. New shorts?"
" What these? Yeah I thought plaid shorts would be in. So I made sure to be the first one to get them from the GAP. But then the summer went by and I was the only one with them."
"Haha. That's so you."

The train the stops. I know exactly where the door opens.

"I want you inside of me John."

Another miniscule treat that gets me all happy is seeing this -> (1) in my gmail account, minimized at the bottom of my monitor. I can't stand having a number in between those. I always have to set it back to nothing. Just so I can see that fine looking (1). I'm getting all excited just from writing that.

So then the work day goes on and I usually take the 7 home. But on occasion If I'm downtown I'll hop on the "L" train. The trendiest but most inconsistent train. I don't mind the "L", it can be very crowded. That can be a good or a bad thing. You know....To get to Greenpoint from the "L" I have to transfer to the G. This is the worst train of them all. It can ruin a person. The G train knows when you have to piss. It knows when you're late. It won't help you. In all of my travels over the past two years through BK, I can only think of a couple of times when I have fell down the stairs and have seen the G, sitting there waiting for me. Other times I pace back and forth, waiting. I bet you I've waited there for 45 minutes at one time. But I'd be lying if I didn't say that seeing that little goofy green G sign approach wasn't one of the most joyous sights I have ever seen. I'll always talk behind it's back.

But when it finally does approach I say, "Aw G! I can't stay mad. You're never going to learn, are you?"
"Shut the fuck up!"
"Easy G!"

G has got his own schedule and rules. But I guess I like the A holes.

So my day is done and I lay myself to sleep. I then make myself. What can I say it's a routine. It's a pleasure and a routine. A very important routine, at that. It disciplines me into doing laundry. Every piece of laundry belongs in that basket. If I neglected my routine, I'd never feel the need to do laundry. It's like putting a tag on a shirt, a sock, a boxer, a scarf, a neck tie or a wallet belt that says, " I have been worn. And I need to be cleaned."

This routine teaches me to be a man and to do my own laundry. I'm an adult now and I should do my own laundry. My routine when visiting home is to run in with my basket of laundry and to throw a LOAD in. Because if I let it sit in there for more than 5 min, I'll walk in to see my mother handling my dirty knickers. EEEEeeshh!


Billy said...

Young John wins the most tags on a single post award. Ten!