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One
cold winter morning (after
Christmas, so there's nothing
but wind and snow to winter
then), I rose in my normal
fashion and followed my
own normal routine. My girlfriend
had recently left me and
I was still a little numb
around the edges, feeling
like I was bumping into
the cabinets as I milled
around my apartment, 174
drinking my coffee, glancing
at the paper, checking my
phone messages and e-mails.
About two thirds of the
time, I continue bumping
my way down the hall in
my bathrobe and work from
my home office, but today
I had an appointment. That
is why I was already up
in the pinkish-gray early
morning hours, before the
cold, taunting winter sun
had risen all the way.
I
am a consultant. I know
that doesn’t sound like
a real job, but I make decent
money, so I’m okay with
it. Even though every set
of potential in-laws I meet
raise four eyebrows in unison.
Anyway,
as part of my job, I have
to travel around to various
companies and spout off
my line of expertise—yes,
I am the expert— while they
stuff me full of muffins
and coffee and tell me everything
there is to know about their
little niche. I prefer the
days when I don't have to
do this, but I need to make
a living.
So,
on this particular day,
I woke up to the alarm clock
and reached over the freshly
empty side of the bed. Damn.
I still wasn't used to that.
Ruined every morning for
weeks afterward in fact.
I started to think about
the day she left and the
big fight we had about marriage
and commitment and “where
do you see yourself, blah
blah blah, am I in that
picture, blah blah.” I mean,
I’m not opposed to marriage,
and there’s nobody I’d rather
marry than Vanessa, but
geez, I just wasn’t ready
yet. Was that some kind
of crime? I didn’t think
so. She did though, because
she decided she’d had enough
and told me to call her
when I was ready to “get
serious.”.
I
got up and did the usual
morning thing, and in about
an hour, I was packing my
briefcase and buttoning
my coat. I walked downstairs
and around the corner to
the coffee shop for a latte—had
to get a few extra shots
in it this morning—the air
was furiously cold and the
wind was blowing so hard
that you never saw anybody's
faces, just their hoods
and mufflers, maybe their
eyes poking out here and
there, if you could stand
to turn your own head to
look over at them. Like
I said, brutal—another lovely
Chicago day.
Anyway,
before long, I was driving
along on I-90, listening
to some bullshit morning
program—you can never hear
any music on the radio because
everybody and their brother
thinks they're funny enough
to have their own radio
show, and some moron at
the radio station always
obliges them. Can't imagine
what the shows that get
turned down must be like.
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