Today is a Tuesday but it feels like a Monday. I'm sitting in a swivel chair feeling like the baby when she rubs her eyes and her cheeks are rosy red from a night of breastmilk slurping. Like: where are we?
Maybe I feel like wah wah rub eyes as punishment for being snarky with the woman at the gym yesterday who was like ahhh it’s already Monday how is this possible and I said yep it happens every seven days honey. Or maybe I feel wah wah because I am teaching this morning at 8am, but on Mondays I teach at 7am, but 7am is yoga and not English Comp, so maybe therein lies the difference.
My iPhone alarm went off at 6am so I got out of bed and my finger hit the alarm button and then walked back to bed and pulled the sheet and comforter over my head. I hoped hoped the dog wouldn’t move in his kennel. He did not.
The white delirium of between sleep is watery and thick and thin and also butter like.
Up until a few weeks ago, I was a relentless rock hard morning person. But easy you know. 5:30am pop up. But I’ve relaxed that. Or given up on that. Too much rush and hurry.
As I lay in bed, I thought about how calm I felt. Like a bath tub full of warm water. But still, I could feel the legs on thoughts beginning to grow—crawl, then walk, then run, then run run run run sprint!
I slept in until 7:20am, then without rushing, without the usual frenetic pulse papping my throat, I ran the dog around the block, got dressed, assembled my to-go breakfast of yogurt with flax and apple and chia and Ezekiel and left the house with earbuds listening to Joey Diaz tell Joe Rogan how it’s the American way for immigrants to survive through organized crime.
Now I’m in a dim classroom and it’s 8:40 and the students are writing persuasive essays about how kale and reishi mushrooms and almonds are superfoods and I’m thinking about the red mark on Ellie’s face that has been there for the last two days and I’m thinking about the teaching job in Minneapolis that I interviewed for yesterday and I’m thinking about how in 10 minutes the students will be done and I’ll walk to the coffeeshop and that maybe for the 9:30 class I should open with meditation instead of stretching.
PSST>>>✌️✌️✌️ Lately, as you may have noticed, I’ve cut the add-on note about Patreon. Felt like I was being annoying and whining or what not. But once a week, a little reminder about how you can support your homeboy seems fair. If you’ve been reading The Alt Dad Diary for a while, and you dig it, then please consider becoming a supporter. You can support The Diary at Patreon.com/altdaddiary in a regular $ amount per month or you can make a one-time donation via PayPal to email@example.com. This project of real-talk & honest-headspace & stream-of-consciousness is like a plant that thrives on love and nourishment from readers. With that, I bid you adieu.