Waking Up to Reality
Who: Chris Brammell When: 2009-06-17, Morning Where: His Apartment
He lay in bed with a pillow over his head for half an hour, listening to the morning news on the radio. It was supposed to be a sufficient alarm to get him to rise and shine and face the day, but fifteen more minutes went by and he still stayed under his pillow. When he finally moved, he felt sluggish. He'd been up late - or early, depending on your perspective - and though he usually had more energy, right now, he just wanted to crawl back under the covers.
Wearing just his pajama bottoms and an old pair of moccasins for slippers, Chris shuffled through to the bathroom, peed, washed his hands and face and then shuffled into the kitchen. The decor consisted of boring white walls and white cupboards and if he had his way, he'd paint it all sky blue. It was a rental, so he didn't have a choice about anything, really. He couldn't paint, he couldn't knock down the walls, he couldn't make it his own.
What he needed was coffee.
It took a few minutes of careful sorting through the dishes - Must wash those today - and the scattered sections of newspapers from the last week - Must recycle those today - before he located the coffee maker and a tin of java.
It wasn't until it was brewing that he opened the fridge and discovered he needed to go shopping for groceries, too. He'd meant to do that the day before. No eggs, no bacon, no bread, no milk -
Shit.
Sitting on the only free kitchen chair - Must put away the laundry - elbows on his thighs, Chris steepled the fingers of both hands just in front of his nose as he pondered his fate, and wondered if he actually had any clean underwear. If he didn't, he'd go without. Who would care? And who could tell? He'd be wearing jeans and who looks for underwear lines, anyway? It wasn't as if he wore jeans that were a super tight fit, unlike his cousin, Daniel. The joke with Daniel was that his jeans were tight enough to reveal that he wasn't circumcised. Ha-ha. None of the Brammell males were circumcised, but that wasn't the point.
The joke was as old as the ice cream he had in the freezer: another item to avoid.
He sighed and listened to the hot water as it dripped through to the pot, the magic of the bean translating into caffeine. Yummy, yummy caffeine. Chris didn't worship coffee, but it was a favorite beverage.
A breeze drifted through from one of the open windows. All his windows were open - he preferred moving air to stale air - and he didn't care which one it was coming from. He closed his eyes and savored it's caress, inhaling the aroma of coffee as if it was the sweetest smelling rose.
Chris had several things to sort out, and his writing and his lack of groceries were minor by comparison to the rest. He had abilities he'd been oblivious to and at least one ability that he hadn't wanted to admit existed. All in all, he needed to get his head sorted. He needed to wake up and smell the coffee - and then do more than just drink it.
If you carried the analogy through, he needed to live it.
Elementary, my dear Watson.
Or 'elemental'...
The breeze stirred around him, fluttering the newspapers. He opened his eyes and concentrated and sections of the papers lifted from their piles and floated to the ceiling, where they swirled lazily like a mandala, something to aid study and meditation. Chris watched them for a bit, controlling how they moved, then the coffee stopped dripping, indicating it was ready, and all the pages fluttered down like huge confetti for a parade. One page landed on his head before sliding to the floor.
Chris sighed, stood and reached for the coffee pot. He needed to work on his abilities, get some control. He needed to get some writing done before his editor climbed through the phone and throttled him.
He needed a place where he could paint the kitchen sky blue, if he felt so inclined.
Coffee poured, he sat once more and contemplated how to start his day. The answer was quite clear. One: shower and dress. Two: buy breakfast out. Three: get a fresh paper and start looking at real estate. He snorted softly. It sounded so easy in his head, but then, he was a writer.
And if he could convince himself to get his ass in gear with that simple list, then he might even be a decent writer, at that.